


A Dragon's Thief

by NotLikeYouThink



Series: Chronicles of a Dragon [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anxiety, Asexual Character, Daedric Quests, Dragons, F/M, Hiding Who She Is, Markarth, Mentions of Sex, Multi, Nightmares, Paternal Reunion, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Riften, Sex Happens But Off Screen, Side Quests, Slow Burn, Thieves Guild, Thieves Guild Questline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-05-07 17:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 29
Words: 66,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14676369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotLikeYouThink/pseuds/NotLikeYouThink
Summary: After defeating Alduin and grieving over the deaths of Risorallen and Lydia, Elsebet Dragonslayer finds herself in Riften, following the footsteps of the stranger that helped her escape Cidna Mine. From there she joins the Thieves Guild, though she doesn’t feel like one of them, at first. Then she catches the eye of an Imperial thief by the name of Rune, who is the nicest thief she’d ever met.Conspiracy runs through the Guild when Elsebet completes a job at Goldenglow Estate, leading to mistrust between the Guild members, new and old. With love, betrayal, and the return of her father, Elsebet finds herself in the middle of everything as the past makes itself known, threatening her position and her new family.Someone wants the Guild destroyed, and Elsebet will do her best to make sure that doesn’t happen.~ Follows the Thieves Guild Questline ~





	1. Gods Damned Devil House

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! So, here's the second instalment of 'Chronicles of a Dragon'! Elsebet returns, new characters are introduced, and love abounds in the sewers beneath Riften!
> 
> Enjoy!

The Markarth markets were busy, the hustle and bustle jolting everyone around as they tried to move through the crowd, and that was no different for Elsebet Dragonslayer, who, try as she might, could not get passed the stall where Hogni Red-Arm was selling his meats. She cursed under her breath, bunching the bottom of her cloak in her hands so it wouldn’t get stepped on.

Oh, how she wanted to Shout them out of the way. It would teach them to move when people were pushing and shoving them. But she couldn’t. She wasn’t the Dragonborn here. She never would be the Dragonborn again, no matter how much the people of Skyrim wished their hero to come back.

She scoffed. They didn’t even know who she was. The people she spent her time with didn’t even know that their beloved hero bumped shoulders with them, and gossiped in the inn with everyone, that she was just as human as they were, no matter what mystical powers the god Akatosh had bestowed upon her long before she was born—long before _any_ of them were born, even the High Elves up in Understone Keep, who thought themselves too good to loiter with the rest of their mortal kind.

A hand wrapped around her arm, and she was pulled out of the throng of people. She wretched her arm away from the person and brought her arm back to punch whoever it was in the nose, but she stopped when she saw Cosnach hold his hands up in surrender.

“No touching, got it,” he said.

She put her fist down. “What do _you_ want?”

He lowered his hands and crossed his arms over his chest. “You looked you were going to murder the next person that bumped into you. Was I wrong?”

She glared at him, but didn’t say anything.

He smirked triumphantly and motioned to the door next to them. “Why don’t you come into the inn with me, get out of the crowds for a while? Drinks are on me.”

She shook her head. “I need to get to the Hag to deliver some ingredients. Maybe later.”

He deflated, his big blue eyes turning sad. “Why won’t you let me be your friend?”

_Because the last person I befriended died_ , she thought. _Because you remind me of him_.

She couldn’t tell him that, though.  
  
She just shook her head and entered the crowd again, trying not the cry. The last three months she’d tried not to think about Risorallen Belinius, the friend she had lead to his dead, and so far, she’d succeeded. But it was the three-month anniversary of his funeral, and she had planned on drowning her sorrows that night at the inn. It had also been three months since she had come to Markarth, and left her past behind.

It wasn’t like the world needed the Dragonborn anymore. She’d done her part. She just wanted to be left alone.

She finally pushed her way through the crowds, and the further away from the markets she got, the thinner the crowds were, until only a few people dotted the stone streets as she headed towards the Hag’s Cure.

Although the Hag’s Cure was an alchemy shop, the owner, Bothela, didn’t like crowds, so she’d set up her shop away from the markets, closer to the mining district of Markarth. It made sense, too, since the miners were her best customers, due to common injuries caused by the work they did. And Elsebet should know—she was a miner for her first week in Markarth, before she quit and became a hunter for the vendors in Markarth, since they desperately needed it.

Bothela had tasked her with acquiring a few types of flowers she’d run out of. The bundles were in her pack, which she desperately needed to empty, but she’d do that once she’d finished with Bothela and the crowds started thinning. But, with the midday sun looming overhead, the air still cold despite it, that was still several hours away.

“Excuse me, miss!”

She stopped, and turned around to see an Imperial dressed in blue mage robes, the hood covering the top of his head. She didn’t blame him; it being the fifth day of the year, and therefore the middle of winter, everyone tried to conserve as much heat as they could. Elsebet herself was wearing two cloaks over her hide armour, the cloak her brother had owned on top while the second one was pinned close to her body.

“Excuse me, but do you know anything about this house? Seen anyone enter or leave?” he asked.

She thought back to the three months she’d lived in Markarth, but she hadn’t. It had been abandoned the whole time, as well as years beforehand, probably longer than she’d been alive. Then she realised that the whole time she’d been there, no one had asked about it.

“Why are you asking?”

“I’m with the Vigilant of Stendarr,” he explained. “We believe this house might have been used for Daedra worship. Evil rites and so forth.”

_Sounds fun_ , she thought. _And Bothela can wait a while for the flowers, they won’t dry up_. “Need any help?”

A small smile appeared on his lips. “I was actually just about to head on inside. Be good to have someone watch my back. Are you experienced in fighting Daedra?”

She was tempted to tell him that she had to work with the Daedric Prince of Madness, Sheogorath, to escape from the crazed mind of Emperor Pelagius Septim the Third, who’d been dead for centuries. She didn’t, though, because she would’ve sounded crazy.

She just shrugged her shoulder. “A little.”

He nodded. “Right. Follow me, and keep your eyes open. Daedra are powerful creatures and tricksters. Never know what you’ll find.”

He produced a key from his pocket and went over to the door, as metal as every other door in Markarth, and unlocked it. He put the key back in his pocket and pushed open the door, dust flying everywhere as the door disturbed the dust. The Vigilant of Stendarr coughed, then cast a candlelight spell to light up the room as they entered.

The house was not what Elsebet thought it was gonna look like. There were no spiderwebs in the corners, or rotten food, or rotten wood, and the dust was most likely a front to keep people out. 

It all looked new.

The Vigilant noticed this, as well. “Fresh food. No wood rot on the furniture. Someone’s been here. Recently. But the people I ask say no one enters or leaves…”

He glanced at her as she raided a chest pushed against the wall, but his head flew up as a loud _bang_ sounded from downstairs.

“Wait. Did you hear that?” He pointed to the door that lead further into the house. “I think it came this way.”

He jogged to it and pushed it open, closely followed by Elsebet. She entered just as a few things flew into the air and hit the wall opposite them.

The Vigilant gritted his teeth. “That’s it. Something’s inside the house. Come on, we’re getting to the bottom of this.”

Eyeing a chest in the corner, she ran after him further into the house, making a mental note to loot it later.

“Come out!” he screamed, stopping in front of another door. “We know you’re here!” He pointed at the door in front of them. “There’s another door. See if you can get it open.”

She nodded and walked over to the door. She went to push the door open, but it wouldn’t budge. Frowning, she put her shoulder to the door and pushed, but it still wouldn’t move.

“Stendarr’s Mercy! This isn’t an ordinary Daedra. We have to get help.”

_Weak_.

She looked up at the roof as the voice filled her head, deep and guttural and unnatural.

She swore. Why did she have to get caught up with the Daedra?

_He’s weak. You’re strong. Crush him._

Things were flying everywhere as they made their way back through the house. When they got to the entrance, the tried to pry the door open, but that one was stuck, too.

_No!_ The voice yelled. _Kill him. Crush his bones. Tear at his flesh._

The Vigilant grabbed the sides of his head. “Get out of my head, Daedra!”

_You will kill. You will kill, or you will die!_

Panic filled the Vigilant’s eyes as he realised what was going to happen to them if they didn’t escape. “I don’t want to die. I can’t die here!” He pulled his mace off his belt. “The Daedra has us. It’s you or me!”

He raised his mace and charged at her. She dove out of the way and rolled onto her knees, unsheathing her elven dagger, which she had called Twilight, with the help of Cosnach, and ran at him. She slashed at his arm, making him drop the mace, and stepped to his front, sending the dagger into his neck hilt-deep. Blood spilt out of the wound and over her hand, the warmth of it making her realise just what she’d done.

She pulled the dagger out of his neck, and his body slumped to the ground, dead, his blood pooling all over the floor. She took a couple steps back as she realised what she’d done.

It was the first time she’d ever killed someone up close.

Since, you know, draugr didn’t count as people.

_Yes. Your reward is waiting for you, mortal. Further down_.

Everything in the room stopped being thrown around by mysterious forcing, making everything fall the the ground with a loud _clang_. She caught a potion of health before it smashed on the ground and put it in her pack, then bent down and pulled the Amulet of Stendarr off the dead Vigilant’s neck.

It wasn’t like he was using it.

She wiped her hand on a piece of linen that was on the floor then put it back. Though her hand wasn’t entirely clean, she could wash it off in the stream outside when she left the house.

She made her way through the house, until she was back in front of the door that had been locked beforehand. She pushed the door open, and it slid open without a creak, like it had been oiled recently.

_Yes. Further. Into the bowels._

She descended a set of steps, bloodied hand trailing down the wall as she went, leaving a small trail of blood from the spots on her fingertips she hadn’t wiped. She turned right, which led to a dead end. She turned around to see the same on the other side.

Searching, she found a tunnel dug into the stone behind a bookcase that had been positioned so that the tunnel could easily be accessed yet not easily seen. She went down the steep incline, the voice of the Daedra filling her head.

_So close. Your prize is waiting._

She pushed herself through a part of the tunnel with a few stone pillars poking through it, mainly blocking the path, but she managed to squeeze herself through the gap between the dirt wall and the stone pillar.

When she turned the next corner, she wished she hadn’t offered to help the Vigilant of Stendarr in the first place.

In front of her was a small cave, haphazardly dug out of the stone. In the centre was an altar, full of blood, with a rusted mace floating above it, and a circular metal disc was pushed into the ground in front of it. Sunshine poured through a hole at the top of the cave, making the beam highlight the altar like it was something from the gods.

It was from a god, yes, but not from the Divines. No, this altar was definitely Daedric in origin.

She walked over to it, curiosity filling her veins and urging her forward. She wasn’t entirely sure it was just the curiosity, but it was a good bet if what she was dealing with was a Daedric Prince was controlling her, urging her forward.

She stepped onto the metal disc, reaching her hand out to touch the alter when spikes came up from under the disc, tall and metal and sharp. She fell to the ground, her heart bumping erratically behind her ribcage as fear started to lace through her.

_Fool! Did you think Molag Bal, the Lord of Domination, would so easily reward you?_

“To be honest I had no idea it was you,” she muttered. She hoped he didn’t hear her, but with him being a Daedric Prince and all, she sincerely doubted it.

_What do you see from that little cage? Speak._

She swallowed the bile rising up her throat and pushed herself to her feet, careful of the spikes that were dangerously sharp. She decided to play it safe. “I only see the spikes of this trap.”

A laugh sounded. _Sharp, aren’t they? This was the last thing many saw before they were sacrificed in my name. But a Daedric Lord has his enemies, and my rival Boethiah had her priest desecrate the alter. So long since it’s tasted blood. Until you came._

“You want revenge on Boethiah?” she asked.

The spikes lowered back into the ground.

_Revenge? No. I want submission. I want the priest that did this to bend his knee and give me his soul. He comes by to perform Boethiah’s insulting rites at my altar, but he’s been missing. Captured and bound. Left to rot. Save him. Let him perform his rite one last time. And when he does, we’ll be waiting for him._

When he didn’t speak again, Elsebet took that as her leave and left the abandoned house.


	2. A Rusty Old Mace

Elsebet walked up to the counter at the Hag’s Cure, pulling the flowers Bothela had asked her to collect out of her pack and onto the counter.

“Ah, Hjolma, thank you,” Bothela said, taking the flower bundles. “You saved me and Moira a lot of work of collecting them ourselves or ordering them.”

A tight smile appeared on Elsebet’s face. Every time she heard the name she had given the people of Markarth, she tried not to wince. She didn’t know why she’d given them her sister’s name. She guessed it was so that they wouldn’t know it was her, if they ever did find out who the Dragonborn was.

“You’re welcome, Bothela. If you need anything else, I’ll be happy to help.”

The old alchemist gave her a coin purse full of gold for her troubles, then she left the store, putting it in her pack.

When she got to the market district, it was still quite busy, but she needed to leave the city and the market were in front of the gates. She managed to get herself through without killing anyone and, with the help of the city guards that were posted on each side of the door, she opened the massive metal doors and left the city.

The fort the priest of Boethiah was in wasn’t that far from Markarth, which Elsebet was glad of. It was also riddled with Forsworn, all of which were shot down on her way with her arrows, of which she had been hiding underneath her cloak while she was in the city.

She checked every room as she went through the fort, but she couldn’t find him. She pushed open a door leading out into Skyrim, at the top of the fort. She shot the forsworn guarding the door on the other side, making her fall over the end and fall to her death.

Elsebet went to the door, picking up the arrows laid out on a table next to it, and entered the round tower.

A Briarheart stood in front of a cage on the opposite side of the room. Next to him was a shrine to Dibella, though she didn’t think the goddess would appreciate all the dead animals that littered both the shrine and the room.

Elsebet knocked an arrow and aimed at the exposed briarheart in his chest. She let the arrow fly, and it pierced the briarheart and ripped it out of his chest. The Forsworn fell down, dead.

She made her way to the cage, where Logrolf the Willful was bound, kneeling on the stone floor.

“You there,” he said. “Are you here to kill me? Slay the mighty Logrolf while he sits tied and helpless?”

“I’m here to rescue you.”

“Rescue? No one knew where I was, when I was taken. Who sent you?”

“Boethiah has sent me,” she lied. “You have a task to complete.”

He looked confused for a second, before it dawned on him. “The Dark Mistress? She sent you? Wait. Molag Bal’s altar. Of course.”

She pulled the key off the Briarheart’s dead body and unlocked the cage. “Here. Let me undo those binds.”

She unsheathed Twilight and cut the binds.

Logrolf rubbed his wrists, getting to his feet. “Ah, freedom. Now get out of my way. I have a task to attend to.”

He ran out of the tower, and Elsebet followed him all the way to Markarth.

He didn’t seem to notice her as she entered the abandoned house after him, and he ran through the house, Elsebet just behind him. When they got to the altar, Elsebet hung back as Logrolf knelt before it, ready to do the ritual. The spikes came up around him, but he just growled.

“Molag Bal. You think you can best Boethiah’s faithful? I have won this contest before!” he yelled into the air.

_Ah, but I have my own champion this time, Logrolf._

Elsebet walked up next to the spikes, making Logrolf sputter.

“What? You!”

_Mortal. I give you my mace, in all its rusted spitefulness. Crush the spirit from Logrolf’s bones. Make him bend to me._

“I’ll never submit!” The priest yelled as she took the hovering mace from the altar. The handle was covered in rust, but it sat comfortably in her palm, like it was made for her.

She really didn’t want to be doing this, but you can’t really piss off a Daedric Prince without there being some repercussions.

So, swallowing the bile that rose in her throat, she raised the mace above her head and swung it down, between the spikes of the cage, and onto Logrolf’s head.

The priest of Boethiah crumbled to the ground, the side of his head bashed in and bloody.

Laughter rang around the room.

_Ah ha ha! You mortals and your frail, limp, pathetic bodies! Do it again!_

Reality seemed to change in front of her, and a second later, Logrolf was back on his feet, yelling at Elsebet and saying that he would never submit, head round and completely free of blood, but not spittle as he got angrier.

And she did it again. Again with one swing, he collapsed, though this time only near death, as he screamed in pain.

“No more… No more… I submit, Molag Bal. I submit!”

Well, that was easy.

_You bend to me?_

“Yes!” He spat blood onto the floor of the cage.

_You pledge your soul to me?_

“Yes!”

_You forsake the weak and pitiful Boethiah?_

“Yes!”

It sounded like he didn’t want to die. A shame, since he most likely was going to.

_You’re mine now, Logrolf. Kill him._

She raised the mace above her head a third time, and brought it down on the priest’s head, killing him instantly.

The spikes of the cage lowered, and the grooves of the mace in her hand started glowing a a bright green, somehow no longer rusted.

_The Mace of Molag Bal! I give you its true power, mortal. When your enemies lie broken and bloody before you, know that I will be watching._

“Thank you, Lord Molag Bal,” Elsebet said. She wanted to get out of there, but with him being a Daedric Prince, she had to wait until he dismissed her.

_Now, I have a soul in Oblivion that needs claiming. Take care of the house while I’m gone. Ha ha ha!_

She knew he wasn’t there, not anymore. The heavy feeling in the air vanished, and Molag Bal had left the plane of Mundas, probably in his realm of Coldharbour.

She left the abandoned house, leaving the dead bodies of Logrolf and the Vigilant of Stendarr inside. If people missed them, they could look for them themselves.

She trudged her way to the Silver-Blood Inn, wiping at her eyes as she got tired, exhausted from the day’s efforts. A light snowfall had started while she had been inside, and she wrapped her outer cloak around her body tightly to get warmer.

Sure, she grew up in Windhelm, where it snowed all year round, but it didn’t mean she liked the cold.

After selling some jewellery she’d found in Broken Tower Redoubt to Kerah, she pushed the metal door to the Silver-Blood Inn open and entered the building. She instantly warmed up, and she walked over to the fire, where she sat down on a seat across from Vorstag, one of the many mercenaries that passed through Markarth, but the only one that stayed. He arrived shortly before Elsebet did, and while she wouldn’t classify them as friends, he was the closest to it since…

She swallowed as Frabbi came towards her, asking her if she wanted anything. After ordering a cup of mead and an apple dumpling, the woman went to make it, and Elsebet tried not to think about her dead friends.

She wished Risorallen was there. She truly did. He was able to make her smile after tense situations, or when she was sad, and he would’ve been a lot of help with the nightmares she’d been having. Nightmares about Sovngarde, and Skuldafn. About Risorallen and Lydia. About Alduin and the Dragon Priest, Nahkriin. About almost dying when Alva stabbed her. About everything.

Someone sat down in the chair next to her, and she looked up and saw Cosnach lounging on the chair, sipping at his tankard. He swallowed his mead and rested his arm on the armrest as Frabbi came over again and handed her a plate with a dumpling on top and a tankard full of mead. She thanked her, handing over a couple gold pieces, and placed the tankard on the floor after taking a nice long sip of it.

“You look like crap,” Cosnach said. 

“Thanks,” she muttered, cutting off a bit of her dumping and putting it in her mouth.

He looked at her after taking a swig of mead. “Where’d you go today? I saw you leave the city, and you came back on the heels of some old Nord.”

“None of your business.” She picked up her tankard and tipped her head back, savouring the cold liquid as it trickled down her throat. It helped with her nightmares, but not by much. She still woke up screaming even when she was drunk.

The Breton grunted, downing his drink. “I’m tired. Goodnight, Hjolma.”

She winced at the name, shutting her eyes as Cosnach stood up and left the inn, leaving her alone.

She didn’t want to be alone.

She sighed, finishing off her dumpling and mead, and headed off to her room she rented in the inn.

She sat on the edge of the stone bed, fur laying on it to make it more comfortable for her, but it didn’t do anything. It was still hard, still unyielding. Just like her thoughts. They banged around in her mind, unrelenting in their ferocity, making her want to forget but not letting her. Making her relive the things she didn’t want to relive.

Lydia falling to her death.

Risorallen impaled on the end of a Falmer’s sword.

Her in the claws of Alduin, and then she was falling, falling, praying desperately to every god she knew to save her, and the voice in her mind telling her the solution.

The various scars on her body, and the causes of them.

The draugr raking her face.

Alva stabbing her in the side, and she ending up with the dagger that almost ended her life.

The three scars up her back given to her by Alduin.

The two scars on her arm from where Sahloknir bit her.

Se grabbed the sides of her head as she shut her eyes, trying to get the images out of her mind, but they wouldn’t leave her alone. Tears started welling up as she saw her falling and falling, over and over. Only she didn’t survive this time. She kept falling, falling to her death, before it started over and over again.

She stood up quickly. She needed a distraction; anything to just stop her thoughts. Alcohol helped, but only a little. She wanted them _gone_ , even for a little while, no matter what she had to do.

She left her room and the inn, hurrying, hoping to catch up to Cosnach. She knew what he wanted, knew that he wanted to be more than just friends. That was evident in his persistence of getting to know her, but he wasn’t forcing anything. What he was doing was on her terms, on how fast she wanted to go.

And she was ready to skip several steps to get the distraction she so desperately wanted.

It wasn’t like she was doing this because she wanted to have sex, or because she was horny. She didn’t feel stuff like that, not by herself. Of course, her body responded to stimuli, but she just didn’t feel the need to have sex like everyone else, didn’t feel sex-starved when she hadn’t had sex in a while. And it had been a while—over a year since she was last touched like that.

She’d told her mother this when she was fifteen, questioning what was wrong with her. _You’re asexual_ , Jorasine had told her daughter. _And there is nothing wrong with it_.

She found him just before he entered the Warrens, the place where beggars and the low-lives slept. She called out his name, making him stop and turn around.

“You okay?” he asked, confusion on his face.

She took a deep breath and, before she could lose her nerves, spoke. “I need to tell you the truth.”

He blinked at her. “The truth? What do you mean, ‘the truth’?”

“Can we go somewhere private? So we can talk?” She wrung her hands and bit her bottom lip.

He blinked at her again. “Yeah. Sure.” He jabbed his thumb towards the Warrens. “My room’s in there, so…”

Awkwardly, Elsebet nodded, and Cosnach lead her into the Warrens and into the room given to him. They both stayed standing in the middle of the room, the door closed to give them privacy.

Elsebet didn’t know if she wanted to do this anymore. But she made herself. “My name’s not Hjolma. It’s Elsebet.”

Cosnach looked confused. “But why did you say it was Hjolma?”

“It’s my sister’s name,” she said, “but that’s not the point. The point is that I came to Markarth to run away. From my past and what I’ve done.”

He raised his hand and brushed his fingers lightly over the four long scars on her cheek. “Is that how you got this?”

She nodded. “I’m the Dragonborn,” she whispered.

His eyes widened, and he covered his mouth as he took a step back. “Holy shit,” he said, muffled by his hand. “Holy shit.”

He lowered his hands onto his hips and looked over at her. “Holy shit. Is that why you won’t be my friend?”

“Unfortunately,” she said, her voice sad, “no. I had two people that accompanied me while I travelled. Lydia died in the ratways under Riften, and Risorallen was killed at the bottom of a Dwemer ruin.”

“Holy shit,” he said, pronouncing each syllable like a different word.

“So, that’s the truth,” she said. “Do you still want to be friends with me?”

A small smile appeared on Cosnach’s face. “You being the Dragonborn doesn’t change who you are, Hjol—sorry, Elsebet.”

She smiled wide, genuinely, and she took a couple steps towards him. “I’m willing to be your friend, now. Perhaps…” her fingers ghosted over the hem of his shirt, “something more?”

Cosnach swallowed, his Adam’s apple bopping up and down. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, leaning into him. He was slightly taller than her, what with her being six foot, the perfect height.

Their lips met, Cosnach’s soft against hers. He brought his hands up and cupped her cheeks, deepening the kiss. He licked her bottom lip, and she allowed his tongue entrance as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

He hands travelled down her body, cupping her breasts before roaming down further and putting his hands on her ass and pushing her body closer, so their two bodies folded together.

She pulled her hands off his neck to undo the cloaks that were keeping her warm. As they fell to the ground, she and Cosnach moved towards the bed.


	3. A Conspiracy in a Shrine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Sorry for the wait. I've had major writer's block for this story, and I'm just trying to get through chapter four and this quest so I can get to what I want to write. So until then, enjoy chapter three!

Lying under the covers of his bed, Cosnach watched Elsebet sleep. She was facing him as they laid side-by-side, her red hair framing her face as she slept, her mouth partly open to breathe.

He’d found multiple scars dotting her otherwise perfect skin—two on her arm, one in the curve of her waist and, most disturbingly, three large circular scars on the left side of her back, one on her hip, one on her waist, and one under her shoulder blade. They saddened him, because he knew that they had to be painful, especially the ones on her back.

She seemed serene, sleeping, like she wasn’t dreaming.

Her face screw up slightly, and he wondered if she was waking up. She whimpered, though, making Cosnach push himself up onto his elbows. Her breathing became ragged, and other whimper escaped her lips.

He reached out and shook her shoulder, trying to wake her up from whatever dream she was having. Nightmare was more like it, as she let out a pained sound, and she started sobbing.

He shook her harder, but she wouldn’t wake up. She grabbed both her shoulders and shook her roughly.

Her eyes flew open, and before he knew it, he was on his back with her arm across his neck, pushing down to stop him from breathing, her chest heaving as she panted. Her hairline was dotted with sweat, and the shoulder-length snowberry red hair hung over him.

He tried to remove her arm, but she just pressed down harder. He tried to tell her that it was him, that he was Cosnach, that she wasn’t wherever her dream took her, but she couldn’t breath. Couldn’t speak.

She seemed to have come to that conclusion by herself, though, because she blinked, and pulled her arm off his neck, crawling backwards as she tangled her fingers into her hair.

“I am so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t—”

She cut herself off, rolling off the bed and grabbing at her clothes that still littered the floor. She quickly got dressed, let off one more ‘sorry’, and left.

All he could do was watch as he tried to catch his breath.

* * *

 

 

Elsebet briskly walked out of the Warrens, cursing herself for doing that to Cosnach. He probably didn’t want to talk to her anymore, not now that she almost killed him.

She could still see the dream she had whenever she closed her eyes, as she got her bow from her room so she could spend the day hunting, as the sun was starting to peak over the horizon, the timepiece Kyrun had given her telling her it was five forty-three.

She was back in Helgen with Hadvar, the Imperial soldier that saved her life. They were going through the Keep when the roof opened up, with Alduin staring down at her with his blood-red eyes. He had then eaten her, stopping his death before she even knew what she was.

She came back to Markarth late afternoon, hauling her kills behind her and laden with Forsworn gear she would sell, having cleared Kolskeggr Mine for the two miners that had survived their slaughter.

She gave the meat to Hogni Red-Arm, the meat merchant, and was given a large coinpurse full of septims. She was about to head into Arnleif and Son’s Trading Merchants to sell her loot when a man next to Kerah’s jewellery stand, Weylin, drew a dagger and yelled something.

“The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!”

He then grabbed the nearest woman, a traveller, and stabbed her in the back.

Reacting as quick as she could, Elsebet ran over to the man, unsheathing Twilight, and attacked him. He sliced his dagger at her, but she grabbed his arm before it reached her, twisted his arm behind his back, and stabbed him in the neck. She yanked it out let the man fall to the floor, blood pooling from the fatal wound.

Elsebet looked away from Weylin and at the traveller with sadness in her eyes. She looked away. There was no hope for her. She was already dead.

“Everybody stay calm!” a guard exclaimed, one she recognised as Torhar. “There are no Forsworn in Markarth!"

_What a load of bull_ , Elsebet thought. She then remembered that Torhar was a total arse and used his position as a guard to manipulate people.

She turned away from everyone and towards the Silver-Blood Inn. It had been a long day, and she needed rest.

When she got to the door of the inn, though, a Breton by the name of Eltrys shook his head, muttering under his breath as he leant against the doorframe like always.

“Gods,” he muttered. “A woman attacked right on the streets.” He pushed himself off the wall and looked at Elsebet. “Are you alright? Did you see what happened?”

She nodded. “I killed him.”

He blinked at her, slight surprise on his face. “ _You_ killed him?”

She pulled her dagger out of its sheath and held it up for him to see. “This isn’t just for show.” She slid it back into it’s sheath. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m leaving.”

She didn’t care how rude she sounded. She was tired and she was hungry. She went to push the door open again when Eltrys bent down to pick something up, and handed it to her. It was a note. “I think you dropped this. Some kind of note. Looks important.”

Not really looking at him, she took the note from him and entered the inn. She stuffed it into her pack as she ordered food from Frabbi. After eating the food, she headed to her room and got dressed into her nightgown before she crawled into bed.

She fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. And it was one of the best sleeps she’d had in three months, despite the interruption in the middle of it.

* * *

 

When Elsebet opened her eyes, the roof was made of wood, steepled high above her. Curiosity filling her, she pushed herself in a sitting position. She was in a wooden building, a fairly good size, with a statue of a weeping Mara pressed against the back wall. Four rows of pews filled the rest of the room, with an aisle in the middle, which she was currently sitting in.

A woman sat in the pew closest to the front, staring at the statue. Elsebet couldn’t really see her properly, so she stood up and made her way over to her.

The woman shifted her gaze from the statue to Elsebet, and she saw her fully. She was about mid- to late-thirties, though her skin was smooth. She had laugh lines and crow’s feet next to her eyes, though, and it didn’t look like she was wearing makeup. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a simple bun, and her eyes shone like diamonds. 

Elsebet knew there and then that the woman was a goddess. If she had to guess, she would say she was Mara, what with the statue in front of them.

The corner of the woman’s lip curled up in a small smile. “You’re smarter than people give you credit for. Yes, I am Mara. Do you know where you are?”

“No.”

She tilted her head to the side. “This is my temple in Riften, where people can get married. My followers take care of it for me, as I am unable to do so.”

“Why am I here?”

Mara looked at her. “You are here because there are two paths in front of you. The first path is you can read the note Eltrys gave you. You will find the love of your life, but there will pain and death in the future. You will gain friends, but there is a chance you will lose them. You will be a hero again, but heroes must fall.”

Elsebet swallowed the extra saliva in her mouth. “What’s path two?”

“You don’t open the note,” she said, “and you stay in Markarth for the rest of your life, always going under a different name, always lying to those you consider friends. Your power will go dormant, and when you’re needed again, you may not be able to be who you once were. And all those you met in the first path will never know you.”

She spread her arms out wide. “Your choice, Elsebet Dragonslayer. Will you be known as Kind-Heart again, or will you continue being Dragonslayer?”

The goddess snapped her fingers, and Elsebet sat up in her bed, coughing violently with how quick she had gasped.

She threw her quilts off her body and almost ran to her pack, where she’d shoved the note. She pulled it out in all it’s slightly-crinkled glory and stood there, staring down at the note. It was folded, so she couldn’t see the contents.

She contemplated putting it back in her pack and forgetting about it again. Path two sounded quite nice, but Mara had told her that _when_ the world needed her again, she wouldn’t be able to help, not _if_. _When_. The world will need her again. And when that happens, she wants to be able to save it.

So, holding her breath, she opened the note.

_Meet me at the Shrine of Talos at dawn tomorrow._

She let out a breath and placed the note back in her bag. There were no windows in any building in Markarth, so she’d have to wait out dawn outside. She got dressed into her armour and wrapped her cloak around her body, her quiver sitting on her hip, and left the Silver-Blood Inn.

There were few people milling about, mainly just the guards that had been unlucky enough to be saddled with night duty, and the meat seller, Hogni Red-Arm, coming back into the city with a bag of meat, which he likely bought from a hunter or the Khajiit caravans, which had been there since the previous morning.

Elsebet’s cloak billowed around her in the wind as she made her way to the Shrine of Talos, which was situated in a thin hall that lead to the other half of the city. With the sky slowly brightening, and Hogni cutting his meat into smaller pieces, she entered the Shrine.

Eltrys was leaning against a pillar at the bottom of the ramp that lead down into the Shrine proper. He looked up when the door opened, his face grim.

He forced a smile onto his face. “I’m glad you could make it.”

She stopped about a metre away from him. “Why did you call me here?”

“I’ve noticed how you’ve been helping people these past couple months,” he said. “And with what happened in the markets yesterday, I thought you’d be able to help me.”

“Ridding Markarth of the Forsworn. It can be done, I know it can. All it needs is a bit of detective work, and I believe you’d be the best for the job.”

Elsebet crossed her arms over her chest, cold in the stone Shrine. “And how do you know that? You’ve only seen me around. This is the first time we’ve properly talked since I got here.”

“Exactly,” he said, pushing himself off the pillar. “From what I’ve seen, you only talk to the same four, maybe five people. Even though people see you everywhere, they don’t know you. You’re still new to Markarth.”

She bit her lip, thinking. She wanted to help, but she didn’t want to be tied up in Markarth’s problems. But while she wasn’t known as Kind-Heart anymore, it didn’t mean she didn’t have it anymore.

She nodded. “Okay. I’ll help. Where do you want me to start?”

Tension seemed to leave Eltrys’ shoulders. “Thanks. The woman that was killed, her name was Margret. Ask around the inns, see where she was staying. And check out Weylin’s home in the Warrens. There might be something there.”

Elsebet nodded, then turned on her heel and left the Shrine of Talos.


	4. Detective Dragonborn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after posting the chapter yesterday, I managed to finish writing chapter four, and here it is! I'm already halfway through chapter five, so you'll be getting that soon.
> 
> Enjoy!

Elsebet entered the last inn in Markarth that she hadn’t checked, grumbling slightly. It was just her luck that the last one she had decided to check was the one Margret had rented a room from. _The Steam and Stone_ was at the back of Markarth, above Cidhna Mine, and it wasn’t very big. It was mostly used by those who were only in the city for cheap work at the smelter or forge, and weren’t usually there for long.

The common area was small and made of stone, just like everything else in the city. A Dunmer woman stood behind the stone counter, reading a book, as there was no one else in the inn except a bard and a barmaid, who was cleaning a table that didn’t look like it needed cleaning. She perked up as the large metal door closed behind Elsebet, and she tucked a bookmark between the pages of her book and closed it, pushing it to the side.

When she got to the counter, Elsebet read the title: _The Last Scabbard of Akrash_.

“Welcome to _The Steam and Stone_ ,” the Dunmer woman said, a cheerful smile on her face. “I’m Gabrose. How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for someone,” Elsebet said. “Well, I’m looking for someone’s room. Does a Margret stay here?”

Gabrose bit her lip, her red eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m sorry, I’m not allowed to say.”

Elsebet sighed. “Look, this is the tenth inn I’ve been to. She died yesterday, and I just want to find out who did it.”

The Dunmer blinked. “Margret’s dead?”

“Yes.”

She bowed her head. “Well, then, that changes things. Yes, she stayed here, and every time she was in Markarth. I’ll show you to her room.”

She took a key from under the counter and moved around it, leading her to the hall that branched off the commons. She stopped outside the third door on the left, at the end of the hall, and unlocked the door. She pushed the door open and let Elsebet enter. Before she left back to the counter, though, she grabbed Elsebet’s arm. She turned to her.

“Find out who did this,” Gabrose said. “Make them pay.”

Elsebet pulled her arm out of the Dark Elf’s grip. “I will. I promise.”

Gabrose nodded, and let the door close.

Elsebet turned back to the room and started searching through it, looking for something that could tell her why Margret was targeted. After pocketing a couple coinpurses that were laying around, she opened the door of the bedside table, and found a leather-bound journal in it.

She flicked through it, skimming the journal that was almost full, until she got to the most recent entry which, as she read, seemed very interesting.

_Meeting at the Treasury House tomorrow. Took them long enough. These people act like they own everything._

_Thonar Silver-Blood is the younger brother, but he’s obviously the one in charge. Makes all the deals, bullies local landowners into selling to him. Even employs that wispy girl at the door to deter ‘trouble-makers’ like me._

_General Tullius is growing impatient, but I’ll bring him back the deed to Cidhna Mine. On my life, I won’t allow a group of Stormcloak sympathisers to own the prison to the most notorious criminals of the Reach. They say no one escapes. Why? Is it really that secure?_

_Maybe I’ve played my hand too soon by rushing the confrontation with Thonar. There are shadows around every corner in this city, and I know I’m being watched._

Elsebet closed the journal and placed it in her pack, certain she had everything she needed. She left the room and then the inn, saying goodbye to Gabrose, glad for the warmth of the sun.

Although, she didn’t get two steps before she was stopped by a guard.

“May I help you?” she asked him.

“You’ve been asking around about Margret and the Forsworn,” the guard said, his voice muffled by the helmet he wore. “I’m going to have to ask you to stop.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll have to show you what happens to those who ask too many questions.”

Elsebet didn’t miss the threatening tone in his voice.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The guard stared at her for a second longer before walking off.

Elsebet headed towards the Warrens, as that was closer than the Shrine of Talos. As she entered the opening, she hoped Cosnach wasn’t there. She hadn’t seen him since she ran out of his room after almost killing him, and she didn’t want to run into him.

She was stopped just inside the entrance by a man in ragged robes. Elsebet saw him around sometimes, begging on the streets. Garvey, she thought his name was.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion as he leant against a ruined pillar.

“I need to see Weylin’s room.”

The Breton shook his head. “That’s not going to happen. Now that he’s dead, his room is going to someone else that needs it. Which means that all of his stuff doesn’t belong to him anymore. So leave, before I throw you out.”

Elsebet sighed and pulled a small coinpurse out of her pack. “I’ll give you some gold if you let me see the room.”

His eyes widened when he saw the coinpurse in her hand, greed and need filling him. He snatched it out of her hand. “Done. It’s the third room on the right. The door’s unlocked.”

She nodded at him. “Thank you.”

He ignored her and started counting the coin.

Elsebet found the room and started searching it, like she had with Margret’s room at _The Steam and Stone_. She found a note from an ’N’ in the only chest in the room, and then she left, meaning to head to the Shrine of Talos, but was stopped again, this time by a Nord in steel armour, his arms bare, somehow fine with the cold.

“You’ve been digging your nose in where you shouldn’t be,” he said, his voice gruff.

Elsebet, feeling slightly cocky, crossed her arms over her chest. “And what are you going to do about it?”

The Nord scowled at her. “You need to back off.”  
  
“Don’t tell me what to do.”

A low growl escaped his throat. “I’d watch my tongue, if I were you.”

“If you were me, you’d be saying the exact same thing.”

The Nord took a step towards Elsebet, who wouldn’t be intimidated that easily.

“How about a brawl?” she asked.

“What?” he asked, blinking.

“Let’s have a brawl,” she repeated. “If you win, I’ll stay away. If I win, you tell me who ’N’ is, because I’m pretty sure he’s the one that sent you.”

The Nord shrugged. “No weapons, and none of that fancy magic, either.”

A grin found itself onto Elsebet’s face as she squared up against the large Nord, her fists aching to be used.

The Nord swung first, the fist aimed at her head. She ducked, stepped to the side, and sent a jab into his side. He grunted, aiming his elbow at her back. She rolled out of the way, rolling onto her knees, and launched herself at him. She landed a series of punches on his arms and the gaps between the armour he wore, faster than he was able to knock her off. She pushed herself off of him, panting slightly, his back to her, before she launched at him again. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she pulled him to the ground. He landed with a loud _clang_ and _thud_ , and she climbed onto his chest to stop him from getting up.

“I win.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the Nord said, and Elsebet got up from his chest. He pushed himself to his feet and wiped the dirt off his armour.

“Who is ’N’?”

“That’s Nepos the Nose. He lives in the upper levels of the city, and has an in with Madanach, the Forsworn leader currently in Cidhna Mine.”

Elsebet nodded. “Thanks. See yah around.”

She turned on her heel and headed for the Shrine of Talos.

Only, when she got there, there was something wrong. There were four guards surrounding the shrine, and she couldn’t see Eltrys. She took a couple steps forward, and that was when she saw his body.

She turned around to leave, hoping the guards hadn’t seen her, but she saw three more guards entering the shrine behind her, hands on their weapons. She turned back around, fingering the arrows at her hip.

“We warned you,” the guard at the front said, “but you just had to go and cause trouble. Now we have to pin all these recent murders on you. Silence witnesses. Work. Work. Work.”

“What did you do to Eltrys?” Elsebet asked, her voice quivering.

“Something we do with all the other natives who want to change things around. We had a nice little deal going between Thonar and Madanach until you and Eltrys started snooping around.”

Elsebet shook her head. “I haven’t been to see Thonar.”

“Madanach attacked the Treasury when he heard you were snooping around. Wanted to make sure Thonar didn’t talk. And now, you’re going to meet the man responsible for all these killings while you live out the rest of your days in Cidhna Mine.”

Hands grabbed her arms, pulling her hand away from her arrows before she could use them. She started struggling as she was pulled towards the exit against her will. She started shouting, telling them to let her go, get her hands off her, pushing down memories from the passed that she associated with being touched.

“You’ll never see the sun again, you hear me? No one escapes Cidhna Mine.


	5. Intimidation in Cidhna Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 5! It's the longest chapter so far, and I made it so because the last chapter was the shortest. I hope you enjoy! :)

Elsebet had been dragged through the streets of Markarth kicking and screaming, yelling threats at the guards that had arrested her. Cosnach had seen her, startled and slightly frightened, and had stared until the guards dragged her into Cidhna Mine, where they had thrown her into a small cell.

She didn’t know how long she had been in that cell before another guard had come in and stripped her down to her underclothes and redressed her in sack cloth clothing, her feet bare on the stone floor. She felt like a child, but she knew why they had dressed her—it was so they made sure that she was carrying no weapons or anything that could harm anyone.

Then, she was lead to another cell, this one full of sacks, pickaxes, and silver ore. There was a door on the other side of the small cell, hidden behind a beast of an Orc, wearing full steel armour except without the helmet.

“Alright, prisoner. Eyes front,” she said. “You’re in Cidhna Mine, now. And we expect you to earn your keep. There’s no resting your hide in a cell in this prison. Here, you work. You’ll mine ore until you start throwing up silver bars. You got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The Orc nodded. “Alright. Open her up.”

The door behind the Orc swung open, and she stepped to the side. She put a hand on Elsebet’s back and then shoved her through the door, making her fall to her knees, the door swinging shut behind her. She sent a glare over her shoulder and at the Orc, who just smirked at her and turned on her heel.

Elsebet pushed herself to her feet and dusted off her sack cloth trousers. She stood up straight and looked around her surroundings, brushing her red hair out of her multicoloured eyes.

She stood on a type of overpass, a wooden ramp going down to the ground where there was a bonfire of sorts, several people surrounding it and starting up at her. In front of her was a wooden platform made to reach a vein of silver that would have been previously inaccessible. On the ground, there were two tunnels, each leading opposite ways, and there was a metal gate much like the one behind Elsebet, guarded by a buff Orc wearing only sack cloth pants.

She set a hard frown on her face and made her way down the ramp. She didn’t want people to talk to her or try to make ‘friendly conversation’, if you could even get that in the damp mine, and the best way to ensure that was to seem unapproachable. It had worked well enough for the past couple months, so hopefully it would work in here.

The people around the bonfire, all men, watched her as she picked up one of the pickaxes and disappeared down the right tunnel, the pickaxe swinging next to her leg. She passed another man, who stared at her ass as she passed, and she chose an ore vein near him to show what she could do with a pickaxe and hopefully leave her alone.

She held the pickaxe in both her hands and swung it at the wall. It connected, chipping away at the ore. She pulled it out of the wall and swung the pickaxe again. She just wanted to serve her time, if there was even one for her to serve, without any distractions.

That obviously wasn’t going to happen, especially if all the men stared at her.

The man near her hummed. “What’re you in here for, sweethear’?”

She didn’t answer him. She just kept on chiseling at the wall, hoping he would leave her along.

He didn’t. Instead, he approached her.

“I’m talkin’ to you,” he said, going to place a hand on her shoulder.

She spun around, catching his hand and pinning it painfully to his back, aiming the tip of the pickaxe at his jugular. He stared at the point, eyes wide.

“Don’t, touch, me,” she said slowly.

The man nodded, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“Good.”

She released him and stepped away, gripping the pickaxe tightly in one hand. “Leave me alone. Tell the others the same.”

He nodded, and scrambled away.

She sighed and went back to mining.

* * *

 

She spent three weeks in Cidhna Mine relatively alone. After almost breaking that man’s arm, whom Elsebet later learned was named Odvan, they mostly left her alone, except from occasional glares from the aforementioned man, and a high five from a man who introduced himself as Uraccen.

She slept by herself, huddled up next to the fire for even a sliver of heat and warmth, and she ate alone. They got fed twice a day, in the morning and at night, and that was the only way she knew that time was passing. Otherwise, she would think it one eternal day that would never stop. There was no natural light, only the light from the lit torches that cast shadows on everything, and the bonfire in the middle of the main chamber.

It was a day away from the start of her fourth week when the door at the top of the main chamber clattered open. At first, she thought that it was time for their meals, but then she realised that they had just been given breakfast, and time never flew that fast down there. It always crawled slower, and she never knew the time, as they had taken her Timepiece from her when she had been arrested.

But when she looked up from the spot she was hacking at the wall with her pickaxe, she didn’t see the usual guards with the bread and water they usually got for meals. Instead, there was a buff-looking Nord, scratching the back of his neck as he surveyed the area. His shoulder-length hair was blonde, and she couldn’t see his eyes from down on the ground, but she was willing to bet they were either blue or green.

He came down the ramp almost lazily, a small smirk on his face. Whatever he had done to land himself in Cidhna Mine mustn’t have been too bad, because he didn’t seem too worried. Maybe he’d be leaving soon.

He stopped next to Elsebet and grinned, his eyes on the four lines carved into her face. “Nice scars.”

She ignored him, and kept swinging at the wall.

“Where’d you get them?”

She raised her pickaxe to swing at the wall as she glared at the man. “A draugr got me. Is that all, or do you want to sit around the fire and talk about our crappy lives?”

Sure, she might’ve been overly harsh, as he probably only wanted to make conversation, but she just wanted to serve until either she got out of there or until she died. Was that too much to ask?

“Sassy,” he said. “I like it. The name’s Thrynn. And you are?”

“Not interested.”

He chuckled, and she was starting to get annoyed.

“How long have you been in here?”

“Three weeks.”

“What’d you do?” he asked, actual curiosity in his voice.

“Nothing,” she said, pausing in her mining for a second. “You hear of the killings that have been going on around the city?” When he nodded, she continued. “They were blamed on me because I wanted to know the truth about what’s been going on.” She looked at him. “What about you? What’re you in for?”

He grinned. “I was caught with several items that weren’t exactly mine.”

She narrowed her eyes at him slightly, confused. “ _You’re_ a thief?” Her eyes roamed up and down his _very_ muscled body. “You?”

“I’m mostly just muscle for the Thieves Guild, but I do the occasional job.” He picked up a pickaxe that was leaning against the wall and started chipping away at the wall with it.

* * *

 

For the next week and a half, Elsebet and Thrynn hung out together, mining next to each other, and sharing much needed laughs with each other. On the day of what Elsebet calculated as Sundas the seventh of Sun’s Dawn, the burly Orc known as Borkul the Beast, who always stayed outside the iron gate leading deeper into the mine, never moving, never ‘serving his sentence’, as the guards said.

Thrynn, who had been used to the fact that he would never see the Beast move, stared up at the Orc as he approached Elsebet, who was eating the bread they got for dinner and washing it down with water that she was sure was infected with something.

She looked up from her plate when she heard grunting from the Orc, a frown set onto her face. “What do you want?”

“The King in Rags wants to see you.”

“Who?”

A growl escaped Borkul’s throat, his mouth set in a sneer. “Madanach, the King in Rags. He wants to see you.”

“Well, I don’t want to see him.”

“It wasn’t a choice.”

“I wasn’t choosing.”

Thrynn watched with wide eyes as he watched Borkul and Elsebet stare each other down, despite Elsebet sitting down and literally coming up to the former’s knees.  
  
Elsebet sighed, placing her plate on the ground next to her. “Fine.” She stood up. “If anyone touches my food, I’ll kill all of you.”

She followed Borkul the Beast to the iron gate he was always guarding and produced a key from a silver chain around his neck. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, letting Elsebet through before closing it and locking it.

She glared over her shoulder at him as he grinned savagely.

“Just a precaution.”

She scoffed, but started down the small tunnel, just wide enough for her to pass through with the sides almost brushing her shoulders as she walked. It twisted and turned, and there was another gate near an opening at the end of the tunnel, with what looked like Dwemer metal on the other side.

She shuddered, pushing away the memories of Alftand that tried to overwhelm her and make her think of her dead friend.

She made her way to the end of the tunnel where it opened up into a small chamber. There was a bed in the corner next to the opening, a desk directly opposite it. There were barrels full of food and wine stacked against the other wall, and she was vaguely wondering who they had fit in there with the tunnel that small before she saw the man sitting at the desk, writing in a book.

“Madanach,” she muttered, and the man turned in his chair to look at her, his eyes glinting with something she couldn’t define.

He was older than she thought he would be. His hair was grey from old age, with a moustache but no beard, making him look creepy. Well, creepier than normal.

“Well, well. Look at you. Your kinsmen have turned you into an animal, Nord. A wild beast caged up and left to go mad. So, my fellow beast, I have a proposition for you. You’ve been stirring up the others, starting with almost breaking Odvan’s arm.”

“He shouldn’t have tried to touch me.”

Madanach laughed, scratching and high-pitched. Elsebet winced. “You’ve got a fire in you. I like it. Which is why I am holding a hand out for you to grasp on to.”

“What do you want?”

“I want what you want. Freedom. I want you to join me and my Forsworn and take back the Reach, which is rightfully ours, to begin with.”

She shook her head. “No thanks. Not interested.”

“May I ask why?”

“I’ve had enough people boss me around. I don’t need anyone else doing it.”

Madanach hummed. “I see. Well, if you change your mind, speak to Braig, ask about his story. Then, come back to me. Then we’ll see if you want to live a free woman.”

* * *

 

What had she done?

What in Oblivion had she done?

She stood above the broken and beaten body of Grisvar the Unlucky, her knuckles bloody, the pickaxe hanging loosely in her grip bloody, her clothes bloody, the walls bloody, everything around them bloody. Thrynn looked at her, a bewildered expression on his face.

He had tried to stop her, but her lust for blood had overpowered her will, and she had beaten Grisvar to near-death before she had grabbed the pickaxe off the floor and killed him with it.

He let out a shaky laugh, trying to hide the fact that he was as white as a ghost. “Overkill, much?”

She turned on her hell and marched towards the tunnel leading to the main chamber, which just-so-happened to be where Thrynn had been standing. He ducked out of the way, afraid that he would be the next person she killed, but she passed him, almost sluggishly.

After she had spoken with Madanach, she had fallen asleep while tumbling the idea of her joining the Forsworn to have her freedom. When she woke up, she had made up her mind, and went to speak with Braig about his story after breakfast.

It was heartbreaking. He had been charged because he had seen talking to a Forsworn. They were going to execute him, but his daughter told them to take her instead, and let him go. After making Braig watch them cut his daughter’s head off, he was thrown into prison anyway, and he joined the Forsworn as payback for his daughter.

She had gone back to Madanach after that, and she had been tasked with killing Grisvar to test her loyalty and because he was worthless to the King in Rags.

And she had done it. Without question.

Her bloodlust scared her, sometimes. Especially how quick it came into her life.

A year ago today, and she was still in her home in Winterhold, bundled up in a pile of blankets with Istah and Hjolma by the fire, reading one of the many books she had borrowed from the College of Winterhold’s library.

If someone had told her then that in a year’s time, she’d be a cold-blooded killer, she would’ve laughed in their face. She wasn’t known as Kind-Heart for nothing. But that had all changed.

She locked eyes with Borkul as she passed him and back into Madanach’s chambers, still wielding the bloody pickaxe she’d used to kill Grisvar.

“Grisvar is dead,” she told him, her voice flat.

He placed down the quill he was writing with, a grin spreading across his face. “You’ve finally become one of us. Come with me. I think it’s time to announce my plans to you and your new brothers.”

Elsebet had a feeling he didn’t know that Thrynn was also in the mine, but he also probably didn’t care.

He stood up and almost ran down the tunnel, and Elsebet followed him, asking herself what in Oblivion she was doing. This wasn’t her. She didn’t just mindlessly kill people because people asked her to.

When they got to the main chamber, everyone was gathered in front of the fire, waiting for Madanach, with Thrynn leaning against the wall on the other side of the chamber, not joining in but close enough so he could eavesdrop.

“What’s going on, Madanach?” Uraccen asked the King in Rags. “You wouldn’t have old Grisvar killed unless you weren’t planning on needing him.”

Madanach grinned, and addressed his brothers. “My brothers, we have been here long enough. It’s time to leave Cidhna Mine and continue our fight against the Nords.”

Elsebet’s mind went to Weylin, and the woman he had killed in the marketplace, Margret. The blood had pooled around her wound, and the guards had cleaned it up faster than anything else that got reported.

“Through this gate, just beside my quarters, is a tunnel. A tunnel that leads right through the old Dwarven ruins of Markarth, into the city.”

It then went to the innkeeper of _The Steam and Stone_ , Gabrose, and the words she had told the redhead when she had told the Dunmer that Margret was dead.

“Well, what do you say, my brothers?”

“The Reach belongs to the Forsworn,” they all cried, their voices echoing off the high roof of the cavern.

_“Find out who did this,” Gabrose said. “Make them pay.”_

_Elsebet pulled her arm out of the Dark Elf’s grip. “I will. I promise.”_

Madanach looked at Elsebet. “What do you say?”

She gripped the handle of the pickaxe tighter, and bared her teeth menacingly. “I promised.”

She raised the pickaxe with both her hands, and drove it into Madanach’s gut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm going to be updating this every Saturday from now on. I'm planning on doing this for July's Camp NaNoWriMo, so you'll be getting a lot of chapters soon :)


	6. A Daring Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating on Saturday! I was busy, and I wasn't able to.
> 
> That being said, I won't be able to update this Saturday, either. I haven't written the next chapter yet, and I'm going camping all week, so I won't be able to finish it in time. I'll either update as soon as it's finished or next Saturday.

The cries of the shocked and outraged Forsworn filled Cidhna Mine as Elsebet yanked the tip of the pickaxe out of their leader’s body. Flames appeared in Uraccen’s hands, and went to fire them when he was knocked to the ground by Thrynn. Madanach stumbled backwards, but didn’t get far before the pickaxe appeared in his neck, blood spurting out and onto the stone around them.

Elsebet yanked it out of his neck and he crumbled to the floor, choking on his own blood. Borkul the Beast ran at her with a shiv in his hand, but she ducked and swiped her leg at him. He jumped, but he wasn’t able to dodge the pickaxe that buried itself in his calf. He bellowed loudly, and Elsebet was able to stand up, rip it out of his leg, and plunge it into his chest. He stumbled backwards, taking the pickaxe with him.

Thrynn was currently beating Uraccen to death, while Braig was trying to pull him off his fellow Forsworn. He threw his elbow backwards, hitting Braig in the neck, and dealt a final punch to Uraccen’s face, caving in his nose.

The rest were coming after Elsebet, as she had been the one that killed Madanach. They all crowded in front of her, either holding a shiv, a pickaxe, or wielding magic, but the Nord just grinned, the power of her Thu’um crawling up her throat, begging to be released.

She took a step back, her right leg bracing herself, and the Thu’um flooded her veins, filling her with a power she hadn’t felt in months. And she said three Words, the power of the dragons echoing around the chamber.

“ _FUS RO DAH!_ ”

The force was unleashed from her body and into the space in front of her, pushing forward fast and quick, pulling with it the two Forsworn members that were in the way. One of them, Duach, hit his head on a sharp rock. The other one that had been caught in the Thu’um, Odvan, was slammed into the wall, but he managed to stand up, holding onto his chest like something was broken.

Thrynn, who had just shoved a shiv into Braig’s gut, stared at Elsebet as she pulled her arm back and threw the pickaxe across the room, and it landed in the wall right next to Odvan’s head. He looked like he crapped himself. Elsebet ran over to him, grabbing the handle of the pickaxe and wrenching it out of the wall.

He screamed as he died.

When it was all done, Thrynn and Elsebet were the only two people still alive. Elsebet was catching her breath as Thrynn continued to stare at her, wonder and bewilderment on his face.

“You’re the Dragonborn,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

She looked at him, pushing her hair out of her face. “If you tell anyone, you’re dead.”

He swallowed and nodded.

She walked over to Madanach’s body and searched it for anything that could be useful. She pulled a key out of one of his pockets, and then headed for the iron gate Borkul the Beast always guarded.

Thrynn stayed in his spot until she looked over her shoulder and asked if he was coming. He nodded and started following.

The two of them made their way down the tunnel to the gate Elsebet had seen the day before with the Dwemer metal behind it. Elsebet put the key she took from Madanach into the lock and twisted it, until a slight ‘click’ hit her ears, and she pulled the key out and opening the gate.

Going through the gate revealed a short tunnel that bended once and ended in a large Dwemer door, hanging off its hinges and half-buried in rubble.

They glanced at each other and grinned. They were getting their freedom.

* * *

 

Elsebet and Thrynn were out of breath as they shut the giant Dwemer door behind them, covered in dirt and oil, leaning against the door to keep it shut. In their haste to leave Cidhna Mine, they hadn’t brought anything they could use as a weapon. It was just their luck that they had been ambushed by frostbite spiders, which Elsebet had been able to kill with a ‘ _YOL_ ’, and several Dwemer Spheres, which were still chasing them.

“My eyes inside Cidhna Mine tell me that Madanach is dead.”

The two of them jumped, both reaching for weapons they didn’t have, and they saw that further down the path was Thonar Silver-Blood, dressed in finery, and two servant girls behind him, one Bosmer, one Breton, each holding a sack and a pile of weapons and armour in their hands.

“You’ve done a great service for the Silver-Blood family,” Thonar said. “I’ve had the Jarl officially pardon the both of you, and taken care of a few loose ends.”

Elsebet nearly growled at him. “You and your thugs had me arrested in the first place!”

“And you’ve proven that was the best move I could have made. Don’t give me that look. You’re free to go.” When she didn’t let up her glare, he sighed, pulling a ring off his finger. “Here, how about a token for your efforts? My family’s ring and all the things the guards confiscated from you when you were arrested.”

He snapped his fingers, and the two girls approached them, the Bosmer stopping next to Thonar so he could place the ring on her pile. The Bosmer smiled at Elsebet as she held the pile out, the silver ring gleaming in the midmorning sun. It was carved intricately, lines criss-crossing each other, almost like blood flow. 

_Blood and silver are what flow through Markarth._

She took the pile off of the Bosmer, who went back to Thonar with the Breton that had given Thrynn his stuff back.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to figure out how we’re going to fill our recently emptied mine.”

Thonar turned on his heel and marched away, the two servant girls following him.

Thrynn sighed and looked at Elsebet. “What are you going to do now that we’re free?”

Elsebet hadn’t thought about it, but she knew in her heart that she was going to leave Markarth. She had too many connections, too many people that knew her—sure, they knew her under a different name, her sister’s name, but she couldn’t fake her personality.

She shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know. Probably going to travel until I’m needed. Maybe even leave the province. What about you?”

“I’m going back to Riften,” he said, staring out at the city of stone that spread out below them. “Tell Mercer why I was gone so long. Hey,” he looked back at Elsebet, “you could come with. I don’t know about how good you are of a thief, but we’re pretty desperate. We’ll take anyone.”

Elsebet let out a chuckle. “Lucky for you, I’m a pretty decent thief.”

“Seriously?” Thrynn asked, his eyes going up and down her body. “You?”

She nudged him with her elbow. “Hey. I have the physique for it. Besides, I was taught how to do all that thief stuff when I was a kid, my father was a thief. And I only learnt how to kill people in Last Seed.”

She started walking forward, to where, she didn’t know. Thrynn followed her, bewildered.

“Last Seed? Seriously?”

“Yup.”

“You know,” he said, side eyeing her, “I don’t know much about you.”

“Well, what do you want to know? No promises that I’ll answer, though.”

He laughed. “Okay, then. Where are you from?”

“Winterhold. Mother is a retired mage, and father was a thief. What about you?”

“Dawnstar.”

It was Elsebet’s turn to look bewildered. “You’re from Dawnstar?”

“What’s wrong with Dawnstar?”

“Nothing, I just didn’t think you’d be from there.”

He sighed, and they turned a corner. “Yeah. I joined a bandit clan up there. After a while, I left, and went to Riften, where Brynjolf took me in because the guild needed muscle. So, next question. Any siblings?”

She nodded. “Three. Jorten, Istah, and Hjolma. Jorten was the oldest, but he died during the Great Collapse.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “It’s fine. It was nine years ago, and I got to say goodbye to him when I went to Sovngarde to defeat Alduin. Anyway, Istah’s the next one, he followed in my mother’s footsteps and joined the College of Winterhold, apprenticing in the School of Illusion. Mother is a Restoration Mage, or she was, before she retired, and taught me a couple healing spells. It’s done me good.”

“And what about Hjolma?”

“She’s my twin sister. Looks near-identical to me, except her hair is in tight ringlets and both her eyes are blue.” She sighed. “She got married in Frost Fall. I got an invitation, but I didn’t go. My companion had died, and his funeral was a couple weeks before the wedding. I regret it, but what’s done is done. I can’t go back and fix it.”

She stopped walking, looking up at a sign outside an inn. _The Steam and Stone_ , it pronounced proudly.

She looked back at Thrynn. “We can get changed in here.”

“This is an inn.”

“And inns have rooms, don’t they?” she asked. “Just come on.”

They entered the inn, which was from the fire going at the hearth, and Gabrose was standing behind the counter, counting out gold. She looked up at the sound of the door opening, and smiled wide when she saw who it was.

“It’s you! I was wondering where you went,” the Dunmer said. “Is everything okay? Where were you?”

Elsebet and Thrynn approached the counter, and the former sighed. “I was in Cidhna Mine. Only just got out.”

Gabrose gasped, making the bard drop his lute in surprise.

“What? Why? What happened?”

Elsebet waved away the worried questions. “It doesn’t matter. It’s done now. But as for that promise I gave you… I found the man responsible for Margret’s death. His name is—was—Madanach.”

“Was?” the Dunmer asked. “What happened to him?”

“He’s dead. I killed him myself.”

Gabrose smiled at her, a tear in her eye. “Thank you. How can I ever repay you?”

“Just let us use your rooms to get dressed and I’ll forget about it all.”

She nodded, and pointed them to two rooms, where they could get changed out of their prison garb and into their normal clothes. Elsebet took the second one, making sure the door was locked before she stripped to her underclothes and pulled on her hide armour and cloaks, clasping them in the right places before pulling on her boots. She secured her pack to her left hip and her quiver on her other side and her bow on her back.

She stared down at the ring Thonar Silver-blood had given her, wondering if she should wear it. She didn’t know what enchantment was on it, but she knew it was. When she held it in her hand, she could feel the thrum of it pulsating through the metal.

After a couple minutes of thinking, she slipped it onto her left index finger.

When she left the room, Thrynn was waiting for her, leaning against the wall next to the large metal door leading outside. He was wearing leather armour, similar to what she had seen Brynjolf and Risorallen’s sister, Arcaelo, wear, except it was grey and had no sleeves. When he saw her, he grinned.

“Ready to go? It’s a long way to Riften.”

She approached him, thanking Gabrose as she passed the Dunmer, and grinned back at him. “I was born ready.”


	7. Bloody Thieves and Debts Paid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while! But life (and Skyrim) came in the way and wouldn't leave. But here I am, with chapter seven!
> 
> Enjoy!

“I am going to kill you.”

Thrynn grinned wildly at Elsebet as she glared at him, the two of them sitting in the inn of the rebuilt town of Helgen. At first, she had tried to convince him that they should just skip over the town and continue on, but the sun was setting and their horses had been walking all day. So, they stopped at the inn, and after renting out two rooms, Thrynn had gone up to the bard and requested a song, though he wouldn’t tell her what he had requested.

And then the start of ‘The Dragonborn Comes’ was sung, and Elsebet was ready to murder someone. She didn’t want bards singing about her, and she didn’t want anyone’s praise. She did what she was destined to do, and that was all.

And Thrynn, the bastard, was singing along.

“ _With a voice wielding power of the ancient Nord arts_ ,” he sang along with the bard, though a lot quieter and only directed to Elsebet, who wanted to stab him. “ _Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes._ ”

It wasn’t even a good song.

She growled and stood up, heading towards her room. The sound of Thrynn’s laughter filled the inn behind her, and she slammed the door shut behind her, making Thrynn laugh louder, though no one got the joke.

The next day, she glared at the ground in front of her as a smirk stayed on Thrynn’s face the entirety of the way to Riften. So when they got to the gates of the City of Thieves, Elsebet kicked him in the shin as he dismounted his horse, and had her own laughter at his pain as she entered the city.

The laughter stopped a couple steps into the city, and she remembered that the last time she was in Riften was with Risorallen, and that his sister, Arcaelo, was a member of the Thieves Guild. Suddenly, she wanted to leave, to go back to Markarth, or go to Dawnstar or Morthal, somewhere not associated with the Belinius family. But she was already there, and she had promised Thrynn that she would join the Guild.

And she didn’t break promises.

Thrynn looked at her curiously as she stared at the city, and at the light bump of his arm on hers, she looked at him. He saw the look in her eyes, and he frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

He smiled at her reassuringly. “Of course you can. Mercer will take you, I just know it.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

His frown deepened, and he opened his mouth to speak, but she just shook her head. “Let’s get this over with.”

He shrugged. “Okay. You’ll have to talk to Brynjolf first, as he’s your best bet at getting Mercer to accept you into the Guild. He’s probably in the market, selling fake potions.”

Despite her inner turmoil, a smirk appeared on Elsebet’s face. She wondered if Brynjolf remembered her. He probably did, as she had conned information out of him.

The two of them made their way to the market district of Riften, and sure enough, Brynjolf was in the same stall he had been the last time she had seen him. He was dressed in the same noble clothes, though there was a different potion in his hand that he was trying to sell.

As Elsebet approached him behind Thrynn, she lifted the hood of her cloak and obscured her face with it, the smirk staying on her lips as Thrynn stepped up to him.

“I have someone that would be a great addition to the Guild,” he said, and motioned to Elsebet.

From under the hood, she could see Brynjolf narrow his eyes, like he’d seen the cloak before. 

“What’s your name?” the Nord asked her, eyes still narrowed.

“Elsebet,” she said, and lowered the hood.

A scowl appeared on Brynjolf’s face, and Thrynn looked between the two of them, probably wondering what in Oblivion was going on.

“What do you want?” Brynjolf asked her.

She raised a shoulder. “What do you think? I want to join the Guild.”

He shook his head. “Not happening.”

“Come on, Brynjolf, I’m a great thief.”

“And how would I know that? Last time I saw you, you conned information out of me.”

Thrynn raised an eyebrow as he stared at the two of them.

“I didn’t _con_ you, Brynjolf, I traded information. And, sure, Etienne was on the other side of the markets, but you did find out where he was,” she said, a sly grin on her face.

The taller Nord glared at her.

“How about before you knock me down, you actually see what I can do?” she asked.

Brynjolf continued to glare at her.

“I know you’re in a bad way. Why don’t you let me help?”

He sighed, finally conceding. “Fine. There is a little bit of business I’ll need help with that you can do. Thrynn, go back to the Cistern. I’ll talk to you there about your absence.”

With a mock salute, Thrynn said goodbye to Elsebet and made his way towards the Temple of Mara.

Brynjolf motioned to the jewellery stand run by an Argonian a couple stalls down. “See him?” She nodded. “His name is Madesi. I want you to break into the stall and plant it on Brand-Shei over there,” he said, motioning to the Dark Elf running the stall next to them. “Got it?”

She nodded once. “Sounds easy enough.”

“Good. Wait until I start the distraction before you start.”

He shooed her away, and she made her way to the stand Madesi ran. She started looking at the items on display, ears perked for the start of Brynjolf’s distraction.

The Argonian smiled at her, though with the teeth it looked like a grimace. “Is there something you see that might be perfect for a loved one?”

She had to admit, the jewellery was pretty. “I’m just looking.”

“Take your time.”

She smiled back at him, sending a glance at Brynjolf, who was starting to raise a red potion.

“Attention, everyone! I have something that just demands your attention!”

The Argonian in front of her sighed. “If you’d just excuse me, I have _got_ to see what skeever droppings he’s selling now.”

She told him it was fine, and he left the stall. She watched as he leant against the well next to Brynjolf’s stall then, making sure no one could see her, she rounded the stall and pulled a lockpick out of her pack. She picked the lock of the sliding door and then the strongbox it had to be held in. After emptying both the strongbox and the satchel next to it, palming his ring in her hand, she slid the door closed and stood up, quickly moving on as Brynjolf continued his distraction, selling something called ‘Falmer Blood Elixir’.  
  
She could tell him from experience that falmer blood does nothing.

Her eyes landed on the Dark Elf Brynjolf had pointed out, Brand-Shei, and she made her way over to him. She sat down on a crate next to him and leant back, twisting the ring around in her hand.

“Falmer blood doesn’t have any healing properties,” she muttered. “Whoever this guy is, he’s a load of crap.”

The Dark Elf scoffed. “That’s Brynjolf. He’s always scamming people out of their money. It’s a known fact that he’s part of the Thieves Guild.”

She blinked at him, morphing her face into a mask of confusion as she pushed Madesi’s ring into his pocket. “Really? I thought that died out ages ago.”

He shook his head. “No, they’re still around. Tugging at threads, but they’re still around.”

Brynjolf finished his distraction, and the crowd started to thin out. Elsebet stood up. “I should get going. See you around.”

“See you, Sera.”

She smiled goodbye at him, and she made her way over to Brynjolf. When she stood in front of him, she crossed her arms and placed a smirk onto her lips.

“Judging by the look on your face, I’m assuming you did it,” the taller Nord said.

“Oblivion yeah, I did,” she said. “I completed your little ‘test’, will you let me join the Guild now?”

“Easy, lass, there’s a couple things you need to do first.”

She grumbled, and her smirk became a scowl, which turned into a grin when Brynjolf held a purse full of coin in front of her face.

“Payment, for the job well done,” he said, dropping the coinpurse onto Elsebet’s outstretched hand. “Now, before we do anything else, you need to get to the Ragged Flagon. I believe you already know the way.”

He turned on his heel and left the market district, the crowds thinning around him as the sun began to set behind the walls surrounding Riften.

Elsebet let out a sigh, and placed the coinpurse in her pack as a guard dragged Brand-Shei to the prisons. She didn’t spare him a second glance and started towards the Ratways.

The canals below Riften were just as rancid as she remembered, and she quickly made her way to the iron gate and through the door behind it. From there it was just remembering her way through the sewers until she got to the bridge, which was up, and she dropped down to the lower levels. Not wanting to risk getting lost without a guide, she climbed up the wall like she did the last time she was there and continued on, the small room behind the drawbridge empty, and into the Ragged Flagon.

She could hear a low chatter as she approached the underground bar, and when she passed over the bridge she saw Brynjolf talking to the man at the bar and an Imperial with blonde hair and sideburns.

“Come on, Brynjolf, those days are over,” the barkeep said, cleaning a tankard with a piece of rag.

Brynjolf played with the tankard between his hands. “I’m telling you, this one is different…”

The man with the sideburns scoffed. “We’ve all heard that one before, Bryn! Quit kidding yourself.”

“It’s time you face the truth, old friend,” the barkeep said. “You, Vex, Mercer… you’re all part of a dying breed. Things are changing!”

Brynjolf ran a hand down his face and glanced to the side, where he saw Elsebet standing, and a grin appeared on his face. “Dying breed, eh? Well what do you call that, then?”

His two companions looked over at her as he stood up and made his way over to her, the grin still plastered to his face.

“Well, well… Colour me impressed, lass. I wasn’t certain I’d see you again!”

She narrowed his eyes at him. “I’ve been here before.”

“Right. Well, as I told you before, there’s a couple things you need to do before you join the Guild. There’s a couple of deadbeats that owe our organisation some serious coin and they’ve decided not to pay. I want you to explain to them the error of their ways.”

“Okay,” she said, “who are these deadbeats?”

“Keerava, Bersi Honey-Hand, and Haelga. Keerava runs the Bee and Barb, Bersi runs the Pawned Prawn, and Haelga runs Haelga’s Bunkhouse. Do this right, and I can promise you a permanent place in our organisation.”

She nodded. “How do you want me to handle this?"

“Honestly, the debt is secondary here,” he told her. “What’s more important is that you get the message across that we aren’t to be ignored. A word of warning, though… I don’t want any of them killed. Bad for business.”

Elsebet nodded again, and she left the Ragged Flagon.

The ‘deadbeats’, as Brynjolf had called them, were easier to convince than she thought. All she had to do was threaten Keerava’s family in Morrowind, threaten to drop Haelga’s Statue of Dibella down a well, and Bersi Honey-Hand had given her the gold as soon as she had entered his store. Within an hour of leaving the underground pub, she was entering it again, placing the three coinpurses in front of Brynjolf.

Brynjolf grinned at her. “So, job’s done and you even brought the gold. Best of all you did it clean. I like that. Well done. And it would seem that I owe you something in return.” He pulled several potions out of one of his many pockets and placed them on the table next to the coinpurses. “Here you go. I think you’ll find these quite useful.”

She checked the labels on the potions as Brynjolf picked up the coinpurses. _Philtre of Health_ and _Elixir of Glibness_. She placed them in her pack.

“What’s next, then?” she asked.

“Judging by how well you handled those shopkeepers, I’d say you’ve done more than proved yourself. We need people like you in our outfit.”

“If there’s more gold where that came from, I’m in.”

He grinned. “That’s the spirit! Larceny’s in your blood… the telltale sign of a practised thief. I think you’d do more than just fit in around here.”

She grinned herself. She hadn’t fit in anywhere since she left Winterhold, no matter how much others would say otherwise. She had an ancient power coursing through her veins, and somedays she forgot she was alone, while other days it crushed on top of her like a weight that wouldn’t lessen.

A priest had called it Post Traumatic Stress. She’d never heard of it before, but it sounded about right.

The Nord man stood up. “Now, how about you follow me, and I’ll show you what we’re all about?”


	8. Who in Oblivion is This Asshole?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. Sorry for how long it took to put this chapter up. I had a little bit of writer's block, but I think I passed it. And because of that, this chapter may not be the greatest. Oh well.
> 
> Enjoy!

Brynjolf led Elsebet through a hallway hidden behind a locked cupboard, and stopped before a door, a hand plastered on the metal, turning to the younger Nord.

“I have to warn you, Mercer can be a bit… _intense_ ,” he said, staring into Elsebet’s multi-coloured eyes. “It takes a while to get used to him, if you even do. And it’s his decision for you to enter the Guild, so be nice to him.”

She smirked. “I can handle him.”

He continued to stare at her for a couple seconds, before he turned back around and opened the door, leading the way into a cistern, bigger than the one they had just left, with stone bridges built over the water in the centre of the room. There were four alcoves along the walls, including the one the two Nords had just come from, with beds lining the walls around the cistern. In the left alcove were tables full of food with a tunnel leading somewhere. In the right alcove was a grindstone and more tables, with a ladder leading up to what was probably the Temple of Mara or Mistveil Keep, if she had gotten her directions right. And in the alcove in front of them, which was apparently where Brynjolf was leading Elsebet to, was a desk with a man behind it, and two empty bookshelves pushed against the wall with a head bust between them.

Elsebet observed the man as they approached him, though she couldn’t see much of him. He was bent over the desk, for some reason foregoing the chair that sat next to him, his dirty blonde hair streaked with grey, writing in what looked like a ledger.

The two of them stopped in front of the desk, the man ignoring them.

“Mercer,” Brynjolf said, and the man looked up.

While time had not been kind to him, she could tell that he could have once been considered handsome. He glared at her with dull green eyes, a scowl on his face as he straightened, letting the quill he was writing with fall onto the pages of the ledger.

His eyes moved to Brynjolf. “Who’s this?”

“This is the one I was telling you about,” the older Nord said, “our new recruit.”

“This better not be another waste of the Guild’s resources, Brynjolf,” the man, Mercer, said. He fixed his eyes back to Elsebet. “Before we continue, I want to make one thing perfectly clear. If you play by the rules, you walk away rich. You break the rules, you lose your share. No debates, no discussions… you do what we say, when we say. Do I make myself clear?”

_From one controlling faction to another_ , she thought, but nodded. “Yes, I understand.”

“Good. Vex and Delvin hand out the smaller jobs. Do them until there’s a bigger one available, and I decide to give it to you.”

He picked up the quill and returned to writing in the ledger.

Brynjolf took Elsebet’s elbow and lead her away from him. “I’ll introduce you to Vex and Delvin, as well as Tonilia. She’s the fence down here, and she'll give you your own set of armour. After that, you can either take a job or get to know everyone around here.”

She nodded, pulling her elbow out of his grip, and he led her back to the Ragged Flagon, where he introduced her to Vex, Delvin, and Tonilia. After getting a job from Vex to burgle a house in Riften, and getting a set of armour, she got changed into said armour in a private room and led back to the room he called the Cistern, where she was shown a bed and chest she could store her stuff in.

She decided to do the job in the morning, and went to find Thrynn.

She found him in the training room, down the hallway she had seen earlier, and he lowered his sword from the practice dummy in front of him to grin at her.

“Hey, you managed to join!” he said happily, and sheathed his weapon as he made his way over to her. “How are you liking it so far?”

“It seems interesting,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Brynjolf is nice, Delvin is friendly, Vex is… interesting, Tonilia seems like an ass, and so does Mercer.”

He chuckled. “Don’t let them hear you say that. Mercer grows on you, though he doesn’t get much better, but Tonilia opens up to recruits who’ve stayed for over two months, so it’s just a waiting game.”

“I’m not very much used to waiting.”

“Well, you’re going to have to.”

There was a sharp intake of breath behind Elsebet, and she looked over her shoulder to see a blonde girl with dark brown eyes standing in the doorway, her hair tied back in a plait that went halfway down her back. There was shock in the girl’s eyes, before it changed to anger, and she drew the dagger that was tied to her hip.

Elsebet recognised her. It was Arcaelo Belinius, Risorallen’s youngest sister, and who blamed her for her brother’s death.

She couldn’t blame the girl. She blamed herself, too.

“ _You!_ ” Arcaelo ground out, and Elsebet wasn’t ashamed to say that there was a pang of fear that shivered down her spine. That word, that single word, held so much emotion, so much _hatred_ , that Elsebet wanted to curl up in a ball and die.

“Arcaelo—”

“ _No_. You don’t get to speak to me. You killed my brother.”

“Technically I didn’t—”

“ _I don’t care!_ ” Arcaelo shouted. “He’s dead because of you! I don’t care if you’re the Dragonborn, if I see you again, I’ll _kill_ you.”

She didn’t say anything as the Imperial sheathed her dagger, turned on her heel, and stormed out of the training room.

Thrynn pointed at the door she had just left. “What was that about?”

“Long story.”

“I’m starting to think that a lot of your stories are long.” He sighed. “Are you going to leave the Guild?"

“Oblivion no,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “I’ve defeated Alduin—if she attacks me, I’ll kill her easily, and she knows that.”

“I’m both turned on and terrified right now.”

“Good.”

She left the room, leaving Thrynn to his training, and found herself sitting on her bed, emptying her pack into the chest Brynjolf had told her was hers. She placed the Mace of Molag Bal at the very bottom, hoping no one could tell that she had been lugging around a Daedric Artefact for several days.

After that, she closed the lid of the chest and locked it. She laid back on the bed, wondering how long she would have to sleep in view of everyone. She still had nightmares, and she still woke up screaming most nights. She was lucky enough not to have screamed the night before, in Helgen. Really, lucky, because that was where some of the nightmares took place.

Foregoing sleep, she sat back up and climbed out of bed, then made her way to the Ragged Flagon, hoping to get drunk enough that the dreams didn’t come.

She sat down at one of the stools at the bar and ordered a cup of mead from the barkeep, Vekel the Man. She started sipping at the tankard when someone sat down next to her, and she glanced over to see Etienne Rarnis, the Breton she had freed from the Thalmor months before.

The two of them stared at each other for a couple second before a grin appeared on the Breton’s face, and Elsebet placed her tankard onto the counter.

“Elsebet!”

“Hey, Etienne,” she said.

She looked at him fully, and was glad to see that he was looking a lot better than when the Thalmor had him locked up beneath their Embassy.

“When did you join the Guild?”

She looked at the timepiece around her neck. “About two hours ago.”

He chuckled. “Well, I’m glad you did. I still need to repay you for saving me from the Thalmor.”

“You don’t need to do that,” she said. “I saved you out of the goodness of my heart.”

He shrugged, dropping it. “So, where have you been these past couple months?”

“Markarth,” she said. “Also, I don’t want anyone to know I’m… you know.”

“The Dragonborn?”

She shushed him, looking around to see if anyone had heard him, but they were too busy doing their own thing, including Vekel, who was yelling at Dirge for something.

“Yes. Don’t go saying that, okay? Arcaelo and Thrynn know, but those are long stories that I’d rather not get into right now.”

He nodded. “I understand. You want to remain anonymous.”

“Exactly. Thanks for understanding.”

* * *

 

The next morning, Elsebet made her way through Riften, looking for the right house that Vex had told her to burgle. The guards kept an eye on her as she walked, obviously because of the armour she was wearing, but she ignored them and continued on.

Until a courier stopped her, just outside Haelga’s Bunkhouse.

She huffed, annoyed. “What do you want?”

“I have a letter for you, your hands only,” he said. He produced an envelope from his pack and held it out for her. “That’s all for now. Goodbye.”

She mumbled her own goodbye as she stared down at the envelope. It was sealed with wax, the emblem of Falkreath pushed into it, meaning it was from someone of importance in Falkreath. But what caught her attention the most was the name on the front of the envelope, written in a script that was almost unreadable from how curly it was:

_Elsebet Dragonslayer_.

Whoever sent the letter knew who she was. _What_ she was. And that scared her.

She stuffed it into the many pockets on the cuirass of her armour, deciding to deal with it later, after she burgled the house she needed to.

It took her ten minutes to find the house of Mjoll the Lioness.

Making sure there was no one around to see her, she quickly picked the lock and snuck into the house, glad to see that the lamps inside weren’t lit. She stole the things she was told to—an ornate urn and an ornate ship model—and left, the two items making a bulge in her pack, though she didn’t care.

She got back to the Cistern, using the secret entrance that Thrynn had shown her—though she wasn’t sure how it was secret with the amount of noise it created when it opened—and made her way to the Ragged Flagon, where she gave the items to Vex.

“Well done,” she said. “Looks like you’re not completely incompetent.”

“Are there any more jobs I can do?” Elsebet asked as Vex gave her a coinpurse.

“There are, but Delvin wanted you. Don’t know why, but you better see him.”

She nodded, and made her way to the Breton that was nursing a tankard of mead at one of the tables.

She sat in the seat across from him. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah,” he said, taking a drink of his mead. “There’s been an unusual amount of jobs recently, and I thought I’d give you a couple to give you some experience. Make you look good in the eyes of Mercer, yah know?”

She nodded. “Right. What do you want me to do?”

“Go to Whiterun. There’s a house there that’s said to belong to the Dragonborn, though he hasn’t been there in several months.”

Elsebet wanted to punch Delvin, but she managed to keep herself under control. How long would it take for people to realise that the Dragonborn was a woman?

“I want you to take anything valuable from there, but be careful not to leave a trail. I’ve heard he’s fierce.”

She hummed. “I actually know the Dragonborn,” she said.

Delvin hesitated. “…you do?”

“Aye,” she said. “She’s a friend.”

He blinked. “She? The Dragonborn’s a woman?”

“Aye. Don’t ask that in that tone around her, though. She’ll Shout you to Oblivion.”

From the bar, Thrynn raised an amused eyebrow.

“Still, I want you to go. Think you can manage that?”

“Yup. When do you want me to go?”

“Whenever you can. I’d rather not let her find out that we plan on robbing her.”

Elsebet smirked. Oh, she was going to have a great time if he ever found out that he was talking about robbing the Dragonborn, to the Dragonborn.


	9. Old Friends and a Jarl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Updating on a Saturday? Unheard of!
> 
> Well, here's chapter nine, and a bit happens in this chapter. If you've been wondering what happened to the Elder Scroll and the Wabbajack, that's answered in this chapter. Also, old characters came back in, and they'll be in for at least another chapter--I don't know, because I haven't written it yet.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

As the sun set, Elsebet got to Whiterun, the stablehand taking her horse from her as she dismounted. She had thanked him, and made her way up to the city, prepared for the memories to bombard her once she entered.

And they did. She remembered the time she had laughed at one of Risorallen’s jokes. She remembered the time she, Risorallen, and several guards had drinks at the Bannered Mare after killing their first dragon, celebrating the fact that they were alive. She remembered Lydia refusing to stay behind in Whiterun while she went to the Throat of the World, saying that she was a housecarl, she was going to protect her.

Oh, how that went.

She held back tears as she made her way to Breezehome, pulling the key out of one of her many pockets and unlocking the door, leaning against it to keep it closed. She wiped away a stray tear, and she quickly locked the door, pocketing the key again.

First things first, she needed to make sure nothing was gone. It had been four months since she had last been in the house, so there was no telling if anyone had entered or not.

She pushed aside the table, a layer of dust covering the wood from disuse, and pulled out the floorboard that had been underneath the leg of the table. She placed the floorboard down next to her and reached into the hole, her hands wrapping around the Elder Scroll she had placed there for safe keeping.

She sighed as she lifted it out of the hole, glad it was still there. Though, she might have to take it to the College of Winterhold and sell it to Urag gro-Shub, the librarian. He could study it with Aletara, Risorallen’s older sister, and find out more about it, as they knew hardly anything.

She placed the Elder Scroll back into the hole and picked up the other item she had placed inside—the Essence Extractor Septimus Signus had given her. It was void of blood, and she had placed it alongside the Elder Scroll to stop her from killing—but that didn’t exactly work. She should really fill it, as she had no idea what Hermaeus Mora would do to her if she didn’t do it.

She didn’t want to find out.

She placed it inside her pack and replaced the floorboard, pulling the table back over it.

Running a hand through her hair, she made her way into her alchemy room and pulled the bookshelf off the wall, the bottom of it scraping against the floor. She pried up the second floorboard she had dislodged four months earlier and sighed in relief when she saw the Wabbajack was still there. She pulled the Mace of Molag Bal out of her pack and placed it alongside the other Daedric Artefact, not wanting it near her any longer.

She put the floorboard back and pushed the bookshelf back against the wall, the empty chest on top of it rattling.

Then, she started looking for things she could bring back to Riften, things that she wouldn’t need. She found an empty pack she could fill and tie it to her horse, and she started filling it with things she didn’t want or need—enchanted weapons she would never use, soul gems, either empty or full—she placed in the sack she used to put the garnets and diamonds and rubies and others like them that were too expensive to sell. Then went in the spare plates she knew she’d never use, made of silver and placed there by the steward’s men.

With a full sack, she placed it next to the door and left the building, going to the Bannered Mare to get food. She may have been travelling for two days, but she was too tired to hunt, and she knew that the Bannered Mare had better food than the Drunken Huntsman, which was closer to her house than the Bannered Mare was.

The sun had properly set by the time she got to the Bannered Mare, with the guards holding torches as they patrolled the streets. She remembered when Cyres, one of Risorallen’s brothers, had been a guard, before he joined the Imperial Legion. She briefly wondered how he was doing as she sat down at the bar, and waited for either Hulda, Saadia, or another one of the barmaids to approach and ask her what she wanted.

Instead, what she got was a black-haired, green-eyed Imperial sit next to her, a grin on his face as he took her in.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” Zedronymus, the eldest of the Belinius siblings, said, leaning his cheek on his fist. “It’s been a while, Elsebet.”

She glanced over at him, tensing up. He seemed too happy to see her, despite the fact that she was the reason his brother was dead.

“What do you want, Zedronymus?” she asked, her voice quiet.

He frowned. “Can’t I just say hi to a friend?”

She looked at the bench as Hulda approached her.

“What will it be, love?” the Nord barkeep asked.

“Venison stew, please, and a bottle of Honningbrew.”

Hulda nodded, and went to make her food after Elsebet paid her.

“You seem… different,” Zedronymus said. “Not your usual happy self.”

“I haven’t been happy in a long time.”

“That doesn’t sound ominous at all,” he said sarcastically, laughing a little.

She cracked a small smile.

“So, what has the great Dragonborn been doing these past four months?” he asked, taking a swig of a bottle of Black-Briar mead she hadn’t realised he had brought over. His face soured at the taste. “I don’t know why I drink this crap.”

She laughed. “I’ve been in Markarth, but I recently moved to Riften,” she said, and thanked Hulda as the woman placed a bowl of stew in front of her, along with a bottle of Honningbrew mead.

He nodded, glancing at the armour she wore. “I can tell. You joined the Thieves Guild?”  


“Yup. Arcaelo threatened to kill me, but I figured that was just her.”

“Hey, at least she didn’t threaten to skin you. She’s threatened me and Cyres plenty of times for treating her like a baby.” He shivered. “I’m pretty sure she’s actually gone through with that threat at least once, too.”

Elsebet ate some of her stew and took a sip of the mead in front of her, savouring the sweet honey taste on her tongue.

“So, why are you here?” Zedronymus asked, finishing off his Black-Briar mead.

She put her spoon back into her bowl and laughed. “It’s a funny story, actually. I was given a job to break into the Dragonborn’s house and empty it of valuables.”

The Imperial let out a laugh. “I’m guessing they don’t know that you’re the Dragonborn.”

“Yup. Though I did tell them that I knew the Dragonborn.”

“It’s technically not a lie,” he said, grinning.

“Exactly!”

The two of them let out laughs, but were cut short when the door to the Bannered Mare slammed open, revealing an Imperial solder in Legate armour. He stayed by the doorway, his eyes scanning the inn until they landed on Elsebet. He made his way over to her, his sword bouncing as he walked, and stopped next to her.

“Are you the Dragonborn?” he asked, his voice deep and gruff.

She worked her jaw, but answered, “Yes.”

“The Jarl has requested your presence.”

“Dude, I haven’t even been here for an hour, _how_ did he know I was here?” she asked.

“One of the guardsmen saw you entering Breezehome. Will you come or not?”

She sighed. “Yeah, I’ll come. I’ll need time to get dressed, though.”

“This is an emergency. What you’re wearing is fine.”

“Do you really want everyone to know that the Dragonborn joined the Thieves Guild?” she asked, her voice deadpan.

The Legate hesitated. “Fine. You have five minutes.”

Ten minutes later, the Legate was leading Elsebet and Zedronymus, who refused to stay behind, into Dragonsreach, looking like he wanted to stab something.

It was then that Elsebet realised that there were a lot of Imperial soldiers around.

She wondered if Cyres was there.

He lead her to the war room, where Jarl Balgruuf was talking to another Legate, who was leaning over a map of Whiterun. The two looked at them as they entered.

The Legate talking to Jarl Balgruuf straightened. “Thank you, Legate Barien.” He turned to Zedronymus. “You’re the Dragonborn?”

He shook his head and jabbed his thumb at Elsebet, who was fuming and wanted to stab the Legate. “No, she is.”

The Legate blinked, then glanced at the angry face of Elsebet. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realise the Dragonborn was a woman. I am Legate Quentin Cipius. I’ve heard a lot about you from Auxiliary Belinius.”

It was Elsebet’s turn to blink in surprise. “Cyres?”

“Hey, that’s my brother,” Zedronymus said at the same time.

Elsebet decided to get to the point of her being there. “Why am I here?”

“You’ve helped Whiterun before, Dragonborn,” Jarl Balgruuf said. “Unfortunately, it needs your help again.”

“Alright. What do you need help with?”

Legate Quentin spoke. “The Stormcloaks plan on attacking this city. We need your help to keep them out.”

“Wait, when did all this happen?” she asked.

“While you were in Markarth,” Zedronymus said. “Cyres has kept me up to date.”

“And who’re you, again?” Legate Quentin asked him.

Zedronymus smirked. “I’m Zedronymus Belinius, a member of the Companions. I’m also Auxiliary Belinius’ older brother.” He looked at the Jarl. “If Whiterun needs defending, the Companions will help wherever we can.”

A soldier came up behind them, saluting the Legate. It took Elsebet a second to recognise that it was Cyres.

“I want you and the Dragonborn out on the walls with Legate Rikke. Companion, I would appreciate it if you could keep the civilians safe,” Legate Quentin ordered.

“Yes, Sir,” the three of them said, and they made their way out of Dragonsreach to the front gates, Zedronymus peeling off near Jorrvaskr to tell the other Companions of the Stormcloak threat.

“You’ve been doing a lot of work for the Legion,” Elsebet said to Cyres as they entered the Plains District.

Cyres glanced over at her. “I thought you disappeared.”

“I had to work some things out.”

The Imperial stopped in the middle of the road, and Elsebet stopped a couple steps in front of him, turning around to look at him. “What is it?” she asked.

“I thought we were friends,” he said.

She blinked, confused. “We are.”

“Friends don’t just disappear on friends, Elsebet. They tell each other where they’re going.”

“If this is about me going to Markarth—”

“This isn’t about you going to _Markarth_ ,” Cyres said, an emotion on his face that Elsebet couldn’t quite place. “This is about you _disappearing_ for _four months_ without even a letter. At first, I thought you were just taking some time—you had just defeated Alduin, it was understandable. But then a month went by, then another, and another, and none of us had heard from you. It was like you were avoiding us.”

Elsebet couldn’t really say anything, because she really had been avoiding them. It was the reason why she hadn’t gone back to Whiterun besides owning a house there.

“To be fair, I was imprisoned for three weeks.”

“Wait, _what?_ ”

“Can we do this later, because we’re supposed to be going to meet this ‘Legate Rikke’.”

He shook his head. “She can wait, the Stormcloaks aren’t here yet. But you’re here, in Whiterun. After all these months—why?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I came to rob my own house?”

“No, I wouldn’t. The truth, Elsebet.”

She sighed. “Okay, but it’s a long story.”

“I have time.”

Something soured over the walls surrounding Whiterun, hitting a house and making it collapse, and setting it on fire. Another ball of what looked like flaming rock flew over the wall, hitting somewhere in the Wind District.

“I don’t think you do,” she said, then started towards the front gates. “Come on!”


	10. Around the Ratway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo so I've been in the zone, and I'm just gonna update as I write it so here's chapter ten.
> 
> Also, I wasn't sure how to write the war, so I just skipped it.

When Elsebet and Cyres ran through the gates of Whiterun, the Stormcloaks bombarding the city with projectiles, there was a woman dressed in Legate armour atop the battlements, and Elsebet finally realised that the long winding road into Whiterun was for defence.

“Is that Legate Rikke?” she asked, staring up at the woman, joining the other soldiers.

Cyres nodded. “Aye. She’s General Tullius’ right-hand-woman.”

She nodded herself as the Legate started a speech.

“This is it, men! This is an important day for the Empire and for the Legion. And for all of Skyrim. This is the day we send a message to Ulfric Stormcloak and the rebel Jarls who support him. But make no mistake. What we do here today, we do for Skyrim and her people. By cutting out the disease of this rebellion, we will make this country whole again! Ready now! Everyone, with me! For the Empire! For the Legion!”

Then she let out a battle cry, mimicked by all the soldiers surrounding Elsebet, including Cyres. The Legate made her way down the battlement and to the front of the soldiers, all of them just waiting for the Stormcloaks to attack.

Elsebet pushed through the soldiers, and stood next to the Legate, who turned to her.

“I was told to help you keep the Stormcloaks out,” she told the Legate.

She nodded. “You’re the Dragonborn, then? Good, we need all the help we can get.”

Elsebet vaguely wondered how many people Jarl Balgruuf had told that she was the Dragonborn, but she didn’t get much time to think before the first Stormcloak soldier appeared through the fog of war, clad in the blues of Windhelm, brandishing a warhammer in front of him.

She pulled her bow off her back and knocked an arrow, aiming it at his chest. The arrow flew true, slamming into the Stormcloak’s chest and sending him backwards, blood staining his armour.

The first casualty of the Battle for Whiterun.

It would not be the last.

The battle was short, shorter than Elsebet thought possible. The Stormcloaks numbers were great, but a lot of them were inexperienced, seeing as how the previous war had been thirty years prior, and Elsebet and the combined force of the Legion managed to keep them at bay. And after a thank you from the Jarl, Elsebet and Cyres found themselves in the Bannered Mare, drinking with Zedronymus.

She didn’t stay there long. She went back to Breezehome and slept through the rest of the night and half the day. Then she said goodbye to the brothers and left Whiterun, dragging her sack of ‘stolen’ things behind her.

Two days later, she was back in Riften, climbing down the ladder that lead into the Ragged Flagon, back in her Guild leathers, and making her way to Delvin.

“And you’re sure the Dragonborn doesn’t know you were there?” the Breton asked, looking through the sack.

“Aye. I covered all my tracks, just like you told me to.”

“Good job, then,” he said, leaning back in his chair and pulling a coinpurse out of one of his many pockets. “Here’s your pay. I’ll talk to Mercer about you stealing from the Dragonborn.”

She gave him a strained smile as she pocketed the gold. She really didn’t like Mercer, and would rather have him not really know of her accomplishments. But, this was a Guild, and he was the Guildmaster. He knew everything that went down in it.

After thanking him, she decided to blow it on mead or wine, wanting to not have nightmares again. She sat down at the bar and ordered a Honningbrew mead from Vekel the Man, nodding at Brynjolf as he drank some of his own mead.

“How was the job?” he asked, taking a sip from the bottle in his hand.

“It was good. I stole stuff from the Dragonborn’s house, so I’m probably going to regret that later, but it went good.”

He choked on his mead. “You _what?_ ’

She put her hands up. “Hey, Delvin put me on the job. She’s probably going to kill me, but I usually survive things that kill normal people, so at least I have that going.”

He looked at her curiously. “Like what?”

“Well, I was at Helgen, for one.”

His brows raised so much they joined his hairline. “You were at Helgen?”

She took a swig of her mead and nodded. “Aye. One of the most scariest days of my life. And before that I was in Winterhold when the Great Collapse happened. And three days ago I got caught up between the Stormcloaks and Imperials in Whiterun.”

He chuckled nervously. “You do not have good luck when it comes to catastrophes.”

“No, I do not.” She laughed with him. “Where’s Vex? She’s not leaning against the crates.”

“She doesn’t just lean against crates all day, lass. She’s out on a job, at Goldenglow Estate. Mercer gave her the job.”

“Well, I do not envy her.” She stood up with her bottle of mead in hand. “Well, I know literally five people in the Guild, so I’m going to go introduce myself to the rest. Bye.”

Brynjolf said his own goodbye, and she left for the Cistern.

When she entered, Mercer was standing behind his desk. She paid him no mind as she walked over to Thrynn, a small group of people surrounding him as he spoke, including Arcaelo.

“And then Thonar Silver-Blood gave her his family ring,” Thrynn was saying as she approached. “He had us pardoned because Elsebet killed everyone in the mine.”

A Bosmer with a bow on his back scoffed. “That never happens, Thrynn. Stop telling us lies.”

“I’m telling you the truth. Then she came back here with me and joined the Guild.”

“Then why isn’t she here?” a Breton asked, an eyebrow raised.

Arcaelo smirked. “Maybe she took my threat seriously and left.”

“Why would you threaten her?” Etienne, who was also in the group, asked.

“She’s the reason my brother’s dead.”

Elsebet crossed her arms. “How many times do I have to tell you that I didn’t kill him?”

The group turned to see her standing there, and she saw a flash of anger in Arcaelo’s eyes.

“What are you still doing here?” she asked, venom in her voice.

“I joined the Guild, I’m not just going to leave because you threatened me.”

Arcaelo drew her twin daggers. “As I said before, I don’t care that you’re the Dr-”

“So where have been these past few days?” Thrynn interrupted the Imperial, a little louder than was probably needed.

“Oh, I had a job in Whiterun,” Elsebet said.

“Didn’t the Stormcloaks recently attack Whiterun?” the Bosmer in the group asked.

“Yeah.” She didn’t elaborate.

“Well, I’m Niruin,” he said. “If you need any marksman training, I’m here to help—if you’ve got the coin.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, grinning.

It was then that she realised that Arcaelo had left.

The Breton grinned. “I’m Cynric Endell. Been here a long time, almost as long as Brynjolf.”

There was a third one that she didn’t know, an Imperial she swore she’d seen before. Then she remembered Risorallen’s funeral, and the thief that had come with Arcaelo.

“I’m Rune,” he said.

“Strange name. Well, I’m Elsebet. It’s nice to meet you all.”

It got a bit awkward, then. She was the newest member of the Thieves Guild, while all of them had been there a lot longer. As Elsebet opened her mouth to say something—what, she wasn’t sure—the loud grating sound of the secret entrance opened, and Vex came down the ladder, cradling her arm against her chest, blood trailing down the side of her face.

“Vex!” Thrynn yelled, and the group ran over to her.

“I’m fine,” the Imperial woman said through gritted teeth, though it was obvious that she wasn’t.

“I’ll go get Brynjolf,” Rune said, and then headed towards the Ragged Flagon.

Not even a minute later, Brynjolf, Rune, and Delvin came into the Cistern, running towards Vex. Brynjolf and Delvin hooked Vex’s arms around their shoulders, and helped her towards the closest bed. She hissed as she moved, obviously in pain.

“By the gods, Vex, what happened?” Brynjolf asked, worry lacing his voice.

“The damned elf had more bodyguards than before,” she said. “It was like he knew I was coming. I barely got out of there alive.”

He swore under his breath, then looked at the thieves around him. “Do any of you have any healing potions?”

Elsebet stepped forward. “I know a healing spell.”

The burly Nord nodded, and moved to the side to let her through. The spell ignited in her hand, and she hovered the golden light over the cut on her forehead, holding it there until the Imperial’s skin had stitched itself together. She moved her hand to Vex’s arm, and she hissed as Elsebet healed it.

“Is there anywhere else?” she asked, rotating Vex’s arm to make sure it was fully healed.

She shook her head. “No. That was it. Thank you.”

Something told Elsebet that she wasn’t used to thanking people, but she smiled at her and took a step back.

Delvin helped Vex to her feet. “You have to be more careful, love.”

“I was careful. They took me by surprise. It won’t happen again.”

“You’re not going back there,” Brynjolf said.

“It’s not my decision if I do, it’s Mercer’s,” the Imperial said, glancing at the Guildmaster on the other side of the Cistern.

Elsebet looked over and saw him staring at them, a quizzical look on his face, and she swore he was looking right at her. He then closed the book he had been writing in and went down one of the tunnels leading to the private rooms for the higher members of the Guild.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Brynjolf asked Vex.

“Yes. Now get off my back.”


	11. Burn, Beehives, Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, third chapter in three days. Don't get used to it, because I'm only doing it so I get my goal for Camp NaNo, but hey! Content for you guys!
> 
> Though, with the way I'm going, I'm probably gonna finish this story before NaNoWriMo, but I doubt it. Either way, I'm going to be working on this series.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

“Mercer wants you.”

Elsebet looked up from the bottle of mead in front of her to see Brynjolf standing next to the bar, arms crossed over his chest and a stern look on his face.

“What?”

“Mercer wants you,” he repeated. “Don’t know why.”

She blinked in confusion. “Okay.”

She stood up, leaving her bottle of mead on the bar, and followed him into the Cistern, where Mercer was standing behind his desk as usual, a deep frown on his face. He looked up as the two Nords approached, the frown turning into a scowl.

“You wanted to see me?” Elsebet asked.

“Yes, it’s time to see if you really have the skillset to flourish in this Guild. I want you to infiltrate Goldenglow Estate and bring me the contents of what’s in Aringoth’s safe, as well as burn down three of the beehives there.”

Brynjolf just stared at Mercer while Elsebet raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t Vex almost die literally yesterday from going there.”

Mercer crossed his arms, his scowl deepening. “Brynjolf assures me that you’re a great thief, despite being here for less than a week. If you are, you’ll complete the job. If not, and you die horribly in the attempt, at least no one knew you enough to grieve.”

Elsebet wanted to tell him that she was the Dragonborn, and that if she died that would suck for the world, as there was most likely another catastrophe coming soon—at least, that’s what it sounded like when Mara told her to open the letter. And, really, that had been the best decision she’d made since defeating Alduin.

But she didn’t. Instead she worked her jaw and said. “Okay. You’ll have whatever’s in the safe by tomorrow night.”

“You seem rather confident in your ability.”

“Well if I wasn’t a good thief, I would probably be dead.” And she wasn’t exaggerating—her ability to keep to the shadows had come in handy plenty of times by allowing her to snipe her enemies from places they couldn’t see. She really _would_ be dead, as her sword-wielding abilities weren’t the best, and had most likely gone down since the last time she had attacked someone with a sword—that someone being Alduin himself.

The Breton scoffed, but nodded. “Alright. I expect to see it by sundown tomorrow. You’re dismissed.”

They walked away from him, and when they were out of earshot—meaning in the tunnel leading to the Ragged Flagon—Brynjolf stopped her with a hand on her arm and asked her what in oblivion she had been thinking.

“Vex is the best infiltrator we have, and even she couldn’t get passed the guards.”

“Well, unlike Vex, I have experience in killing. So, if you don’t mind, let me go.”

He dropped her arm, and she stepped away from him. “How many people have you killed?”

“A lot more than I’d like to admit. I’m actually surprised the Dark Brotherhood hasn’t contacted me, but most of my kills have been bandits, so I’m not sure if they count.”

“Of course they count—they’re lives that you’ve taken.”

“But it’s not murder because they attacked me first,” she reasoned, a sly grin on her face. “It’s only self defence.”

Brynjolf raised an eyebrow. “You don’t expect me to believe that, right?”

“It’s not about what you believe, it’s about what the Dark Brotherhood believes.” She took another step away from Brynjolf, half-turning away. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have shit to steal.”

* * *

 

Standing on the shore of Lake Honrich, Elsebet stared out at the islands Goldenglow Estate covered, not really happy at the prospect of getting wet. She’d asked Vex about the place—who got angry that she was given the job after the Imperial thief botched it—and the older woman had told her about a small sewer system that should still be unoccupied on the island. The only problem with that was she still had to swim to the island to get to it.

Stripping off all her unnecessary items, and finding the letter a noble in Falkreath had given her that she had forgotten about, she tucked her belongings underneath a thick bush and waded into the lake fully-clothed, ignoring the looks she was getting from the guard that had happened to pass right then.

The water was cold, and by the time she got to the Estate, she was sure she had the flu. She didn’t mind, really—all she needed to do was drink a potion of cure disease. But she was dripping water as she entered the sewer, her boots squelching as they hit the rungs of the wooden ladder. She just hoped that she’d be dry by the time she got to the end of the sewer system, though she doubted it.

But Vex had failed to mention the skeever infestation, and the Nord guessed that it was payback for landing the Goldenglow job, despite the fact that she had no say in the matter.

The skeever weren’t much of a problem—one arrow and they were dead, though there were a lot of them. She was tempted to Shout them to death, just so she could do a whole group at once, but she didn’t want to let this ‘Aringoth’ person, or any of his mercenaries, know that she, the Dragonborn, was there.

She only wished, as she climbed up another ladder and into the sunlight, that she had waited until nightfall to start the job, as that would have given her an advantage, especially with the whole ‘torching the beehives’ thing. But alas, she hadn’t thought about that.

She picked the lock on the door she had ended up in front of, still extremely wet from her swim in the lake, and entered the Estate, closing the door softly behind her. She moved through the first floor, avoiding the hired mercenaries, looking for the safe Mercer had told her to rob, because the git hadn’t thought of telling her where it was. When the first floor didn’t show any signs of there being a safe, she moved up to the second floor, as that was closer than the gate that looked like it lead to the cellar, which she would check next if the second floor was deemed useless.

She pocketed loose gold that was on a table and crept through the second floor, wondering how her water trail hadn’t been seen yet. Maybe these mercenaries were less brain and more brawn.

Killing one of the mercenaries that she had to, she unlocked a door with her lockpicks and opened the door, only to see an Altmer crouching in the corner, who scoffed when he saw her.

“Worthless mercenaries. I didn’t think Maven or Mercer would allow me to get away with this, but I had little choice.”

“Give me the key, Aringoth, if you don’t want to die.”

“I don’t believe you. That’s not your way.”

It was Elsebet’s turn to scoff. “It may not be the Guild’s way, but it’s my way. Hand over the key.”

“I can’t. She’d kill me she found out I gave you the key.”

“You’re going to die anyway, it’s your choice when—now, or when ‘she’ finds out.”

He stood up, drawing his dagger. “Then I choose now. Give it your best shot!”

He lunged at her, but she sidestepped him and pulled her bow off her back, pulling an arrow out of the quiver resting on her hip and at the same time, and shot him in the neck. He went down like a log, blood spilling out of the wound, and she stepped away from the body so as not to get blood on her boots.

But then she remembered that she needed the key, and searched through his pockets, pocketing any valuables he had on him, as well as the bee statue on his bedside table before she left the room.

She crept down into the cellar, passing the mercenaries she could and shooting one that couldn’t, and found herself in a small room with only a safe, a chest, an empty table, and an iron gate leading somewhere. Seeing as how this was the only safe she had been able to find in the Estate, she took the key out of her pocket and unlocked the safe.

Inside was a bunch of gold and a piece of folded paper.

She unfolded it and read its contents.

_Aringoth,_

_This document acknowledges the sale of Goldenglow Estate and all property, assets and materials contained within. Payment of the property has been made in full by Gulum-Ei as an agent on behalf of the buyer. All dealings with the Thieves Guild in Riften is to cease immediately. To deter any possible retribution for this act, you are to take immediate steps to protect our assets in any way you see fit. I think you’ll find that the Thieves Guild is far more bark than bite and will likely avoid Goldenglow Estate rather than thin their already dwindling numbers._

_Good luck and may this be the start of a long and lucrative partnership._

At the top of the paper was a weird symbol—a nordic-style drawing of a dagger over a black circle. Whoever the buyer was—and Elsebet had a suspicious feeling that the person was a _she_ —obviously didn’t want anyone to find out who she was.

Which only made Elsebet even more curious than before about who ‘she’ was. Because, obviously, she was important.

She pocketed the gold and the note, hoping that it wouldn’t get wet during her swim back to Riften, then searched the chest in the room with the safe, also pocketing the contents and leaving through the gate, obviously being a secret exit.

She dropped into the sewer system she had left not even an hour early and back up the ladder and back into sunshine.

The next part was going to be trickier, what with it being broad daylight and all, but she decided that it would be easier to sneak around if there was no one there _to_ see you. And so, she climbed up the side of the Estate, and crouched on the roof with a clear view of the entire bee farm.

And promptly killed everyone.

When all of the mercenaries lay dead and/or dying, she climbed back down the side of the house and made her way to the beehives, where she lit her hand with a flame spell and set three of the beehives on fire.

And, as the fire burned behind her, she swam back to shore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really 100% certain about the ending for the chapter, but I needed an ending and that's what I got so that's what you're getting. Hopefully there's more action soon, as I plan on Elsebet reading the letter from Falkreath in the next chapter, and I think we all know what's going to happen there.
> 
> Anyway, see you next time I update (whenever that is)


	12. Thanedom is a Fickle Thing

“Here’s what was in the safe.”

Mercer took the folded document from Elsebet’s hand and quickly read it, his scowl deepening as he read more of it, before he finally slammed it down onto the desk and swore loudly.

“That bastard sold Goldenglow. Maven’s going to be furious when she finds out.”

“You seem furious.”

The Guildmaster glared at her. “Goldenglow Estate was critically important to Maven Black-Briar. When she’s upset, she takes it out on me, so yes, I’m furious. And I have no idea what this symbol means.”

“While I trying to persuade Aringoth to give me his safe key, which failed miserably, might I add, he said ‘She’d kill me if she found out I gave you the key’,” she said, “so obviously whoever this person is is a woman, and has a massive grudge against the Guild.”

He ran a hand over his stubble, obviously thinking, but getting nothing, judging from the angry huff he let out. He picked up a coinpurse that was on the edge of the desk and threw it at Elsebet—hard.

“That’s your pay. Now get out of my sight.”

Elsebet obliged, and made her way to the Ragged Flagon. Everyone seemed surprised when they saw her sat down at the bar, still wet, completely free of wounds.

Brynjolf raised an eyebrow at her from where he sat two stools down. “I thought you were going to Goldenglow?”

“Oh, I’ve been there already. Also, I would avoid Mercer, if I were you. He’s pretty pissed off.”

“Wait, you went to _Goldenglow_ ,” Rune said, staring at her, “and _survived_ , even though _Vex_ couldn’t get in?”

“Yeah,” she said. “It was pretty easy, actually. All I had to do was kill all the mercenaries—and it’s not murder, because they attacked me first.” She stared at Brynjolf pointedly, trying to get the point across that she only killed when she had to—well, besides the whole ‘Cidhna Mine’ incident, of course.

“But _how_ did you survive?” Rune asked. “Going against that many people and living to tell the tale is impossible, let alone without a scratch."

“As I told Brynjolf earlier, I tend to survive things normal people don’t. And the no getting a scratch thing—I sat on the roof of the Estate and shot them all full of arrows.”

“I’m slightly terrified right now.”

“Good.”

“So why are you wet?” Brynjolf asked.

“I had to swim to get to the island without being seen. But it did remind me of a letter I got a couple days ago,” she said, and pulled the letter out of her pocket, making sure her name was face-down. “I have no idea who it’s from, but it’s got Falkreath’s crest in the wax, so it must be someone important.”

Brynjolf peered at it. "Why would you get that?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. But it's got my name on it."

"Open it," Rune suggested.

She bit her lip, not really sure if she should—at least, not in front of them. The envelope had her status of ‘Dragonslayer’ on it, and no one would get that unless they had slain a couple dragons. Elsebet definitely had, but only three people, not including her, knew exactly who she was. Someday, maybe, she’d tell them, but not in the near future.

Taking a deep breath, she broke the seal and pulled the letter out from inside. There were two pages, and she unfolded them to see the same cursive that was on the envelope, but it was a bit easier to read.

She sighed in relief when the letter only addressed her by her first name.

_Elsebet,_

_Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Siddgeir, and I have the honour to be the Jarl of the proud and ancient city of Falkreath._

_The fame of your exploits across Skyrim has brought you to my attention. If you are interested in becoming a Thane of Falkreath hold, I invite you to speak to me the next time you are in Falkreath. Aside from the honour that accrues to the title, my thanes are entitled to a personal housecarl. I can also tell you privately that there is an empty manor to the northeast of Falkreath that would available for your purchase should your services prove useful to me._

_I look forward to meeting you in person._

_I remain,_

_Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath_

“Does that say ‘Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath’?” Rune asked, looking at the last line on the page.

“Yup,” Elsebet said, folding the letter and stuffing it back into the envelope.

“Why would a _Jarl_ be writing you?” Brynjolf asked.

“Mind your business, Brynjolf,” she said, and put it back into her pocket.

“Yeah, mind your business, Brynjolf,” Rune repeated, grinning.

"You literally read off her letter," the Nord man said.

He shrugged.

"If you want to know why, you guys are gonna have to grovel," she said.

Brynjolf stared at her for a second, before going back to his mead. "I didn't really want to know, anyway."

"Good, because you're not going to find out."

"Oh come on!"

"What's going on?" Thrynn asked, walking up to them.

"Elsebet got a letter from the Jarl of Falkreath and won't tell us what it says," Rune explained.

Thrynn narrowed his eyes at Elsebet. "It wouldn't happen to be about... you know?"

"Oh, it definitely does."

"How does _he_ know?" Rune asked, slightly exasperated.

Thrynn grinned, crossing his arms over his chest. "When you do some jail time with someone, you learn a lot about them. Like, I don't know, a certain red-haired Nord being Thane of Hjaalmarch."

"I will stab you," said red-head Nord threatened.

"You're Thane of Hjaalmarch?" Brynjolf asked.

She sighed, and nodded. "Yeah, and Whiterun, too. Jarl Siddgeir wants me to be Thane of Falkreath."

There was silence between the four of them before Rune asked, " _How?_ "

"I wiped out a bunch of vampires in Morthal, and I helped the Dragonborn kill that dragon that attacked Whiterun."

Not technically a lie, but not exactly the truth, either.

"And let me guess, you were at Helgen?" Rune asked sarcastically, an eyebrow raised.

"I was actually, it's how I met the Dragonborn."

He put his hands over his face and screamed in frustration.

Brynjolf chuckled. "I can see how you survived Goldenglow, then, if you took down a dragon."

"I _helped_ take down a dragon. The Whiterun guards did most of the work." That was true. They had done all the work, and then she had absorbed the dragon's soul and was given all the credit, no matter what she said. She wasn't one to take credit for something she didn't do, and she didn't kill that dragon alone.

"Still, it's a bloody great feat," he said.

"Thank you."

* * *

 

Later that day, Delvin had given her a job in Falkreath, and she had to wonder if he had eavesdropped on her, Brynjolf, and Rune's conversation about the Jarl of Falkreath wanting her to be Thane there. Maybe it was just a coincidence.

Either way, two days later she found herself entering the walls of Falkreath, dismounting her horse at the gates and tying him to a fence post.

That morning, she had changed into her hide armour, so she didn't look suspicious as she entered the city and talked to the Jarl. Also, there was a high chance that the Jarl knew that she was the Dragonborn, and she didn't want a rumour going around that the Dragonborn had joined the Thieves Guild, no matter how true they were, because they would point to her.

The Jarl's Longhouse was similar to the one in Morthal, she noticed as she entered, her footsteps echoing off the high thatch roof. Jarl Siddgeir, a man that couldn't have been older than thirty, looked away from the High Elf woman he had been talking to she entered.

She stopped in front of the Jarl, bowing as she did so. After she straightened, she spoke. "I am Elsebet Dragonslayer. I got your letter."

A grin appeared over the Jarl's young face. "Ah. So _you're_ the Dragonborn. I've heard a lot about you."

"All of them good, I hope."

He chuckled. "Most, anyway. Now, about why I asked you here. I have a... problem, to do with bandits. I had a deal with them, but they've cut me off, so I want them dead."

"Got it. Where?"

“Bilegulch Mine, south-west of Fort Sungard.”

She nodded. “I’ll be back soon.”

And she left the Longhouse.

It had taken half a day to get to the mine, and Elsebet was tired of travelling. She’d done a lot of it since she had been freed from Cidhna Mine, and she remembered why she didn’t continue after she had defeated Alduin—it took a long time.

Bilegulch Mine was a mine built into a mountain, as most mines were, with a wooden fence between the two points in the rock where the outside was situated. Elsebet could see a lookout tower protruding from the courtyard, with an Orc in furs looking out from it. She approached, pushing open the door in the wood and ducking as an arrow flew at her head.

Pulling her bow off her back, she pivoted on her foot as she reached for the quiver on her hip, pulling an arrow out and nocking it onto the bowstring. She pulled the string back and fired at the Orc running at her with a sword raised above his head, and he dropped to the floor as the arrow pierced his neck.

She nocked another arrow and shot it at the lookout, who had shot the arrow at her. He toppled off the tower, and another Orc came down a set of wooden stairs, a sword in one hand and a shield in the other, but he was downed too with an arrow.

She climbed up the stairs to the entrance of the mine, felling another Orc that charged at her. She entered the mine, closing the door behind her as snow started to fall.

The mine lead straight down into the mountain, a steep slope before levelling out with bone chimes hung up to alert the bandits if anyone was there. Carefully, she climbed down the slope, careful not to slip, and turned the corner deeper into the mine. She passed several deposits of orichalcum ore, not really interested in even holding a pickaxe since Cidhna Mine, and crept down another slope, her bow at the ready in case something jumped out at her.

She found the bandit chief at the bottom of the second slope, at the end of the mine. It was obvious that the mine was still pretty new, with the Orc bandits either starting it or taking over, most likely the latter. She pulled back on her bowstring, the arrow already resting on the elven bow, and exhaled and let go.

Only, her foot slipped on a loose piece of wood, and the arrow imbedded itself into the dirt about a foot to the right of the bandit chief’s head.

She swore as the Orc swung around, clad in full orcish armour, and unsheathed the two swords on his hip. Elsebet put the bow back on her back and unsheathed her own sword, steel glinting in the light coming from the nearby torch, and waited for the Orc to charge.

He did, both swords brandished, and she sidestepped and ducked under his arm. She found herself trapped between the wall behind her and the Orc in front of her, and she swore again at the predicament she found herself in, again.

She didn’t even want to be Thane of Falkreath. She didn’t want to be Thane of anywhere, actually. She was just given the title in Whiterun because she had defeated Mirmulnir, but she had hardly been the only one to do it. She had probably shot it twice while the city guard and Risorallen did the rest, and yet she was the only one to become Thane. She knew it was because she was the Dragonborn.

And then she had saved Morthal from the vampire Movarth, and she had become Thane of Hjaalmarch. Again, she hadn’t asked for it—she had actually tried _not_ to become Thane, but Jarl Idgrod wouldn’t have it.

And, now, she was about to become Thane of Falkreath, because she had no doubt that she could kill this Orc chief—she might not have much experience, but she had her Thu’um, and it was extremely powerful.

She just wished she wasn’t so kind-hearted.

But if she wasn’t, the world would be gone.

She didn’t know if she would rather that happen. She was still traumatised by Alduin, and hardly slept. One day, it was going to bite her in the ass, and then maybe she would die.

“Scared, girly?” the Orc asked. “You’re not going to get out of here alive. Not even the Dragonborn can save you now.”

A grin slowly grew on her face, and she even laughed, high and hysterical. The Orc stared at her, confused, before he bared his teeth and growled.

“What’s so funny?”

“The fact that you don’t think the Dragonborn won’t save me,” she said, still laughing.

“He’s not here.”

She scowled, her laughter stopping, and she brandished her sword in front of her. “Yes, _she_ is. And she is _me_.”

“Wha—”

“ _FUS RO DAH!_ ”

The Shout left her body and rushed forward, slamming into the bandit chief, sending him flying into the slope leading into the small room. He heaved, sitting up, fear on his face as he scrambled to get to his feet and leave the mine, but was stopped as she stalked towards him, and plunged her sword into his chest.

Blood trickled out of his mouth, and he went limp, dead.

Pulling the sword out of his body, Elsebet turned to the room with a glint in her eye.

Time to see if the bandits had anything valuable with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Elsebet, and I love her relationships with her fellow guild members. I try to keep them different, so tell me how I did. But I seriously enjoy the idea of Elsebet and Mercer sassing each other, so you got it.
> 
> I'll see you guys in the next chapter!


	13. I Hate the Daedra

“The bandits of Bilegulch Mine are dead.”

A grin appeared on Jarl Siddgeir’s face as he lounged on his throne. “Teach them to stop paying me.” He motioned for his steward, who walked forward with a coinpurse full of gold and handed it to Elsebet. “Here. A reward for your service.” 

She weighed the coinpurse in her hands, making a mental note to count it out when she got the time.

“There is room in my court for a new Thane, as stated in my letter,” the Jarl continued. “But I can only grant the title to someone that is known throughout the hold. You help my people, and I’ll make you Thane.”

She didn’t really want to stay in Falkreath any longer than necessary, especially because Risorallen’s parents live in the small city, but she couldn’t exactly say ‘no’ to a Jarl, even one as pompous as the one sitting in front of her.

She bowed low. “It would be my honour.”

“On your way then,” he said, dismissing her.

Forcing herself not to glare at the man, she straightened up and left the longhouse. As soon as the door closed behind her, she swore, and titled her head up to the night sky. Now that she had said that she would help his people, she was going to have to, otherwise she would have another Jarl as her enemy and her reputation would be sullied.

“Sounds like he didn’t want to do it himself and just dropped it on me.”

“Are you alright?”

She looked down from the sky and looked over at the source of the voice, which happened to be a blonde Imperial man with a blacksmith’s apron on.

“I’m fine.”

“Do you need any help?”

She opened her mouth to tell him no, but then remembered that she couldn’t remember where the inn was, so she asked him. He pointed to one of the small buildings on the main road, and she thanked him before heading there.

The next day, she headed out to the forest, in search of firewood for the publican of Dead Man’s Drink, Valga Vinicia. At about ten in the morning, according to the timepiece she always wore around her neck, she trotted back into town with a bundle of firewood in her arms, only to be stopped by a guard.

“Did you see a dog out there?”

She blinked at the man, his face obscured by his helmet. “No, sorry. Can I ask why?”

“The blacksmith is offering a reward for a dog he saw on the road.”

She eyed the blacksmith building, where the man that had helped her the night before was most likely working at his forge. She thanked the guard and went back to the inn, unloading the firewood onto the publican, and left after pocketing the gold given to her.

The blacksmith was working at the grindstone, a steel sword held up against the stone while he pumped it with the pedal. He looked up as she approached, stopping the grindstone and standing up.

“Hello, again,” he said. “How can I help you?”

“The guards mentioned that you were looking for a dog,” she said.

He nodded, wiping his hands on a piece of linen. “Aye, I asked the gate guards to look for him. I can’t afford to chase him down but I could use a fierce, loyal beast to keep me company.”

“I can help you get him.”

The blacksmith beamed, dropping the linen on the nearby workbench. “Thank you! There’s some gold in it for you if you succeed. I’ll go get some meat for you to lure him out with.”

He went inside the house connected to the blacksmiths and came out half a minute later with a piece of meat wrapped in linen. She didn’t need to see it to know that it was venison—she’d become accustomed to the different smells of different meats while she had been in Markarth.

“Here’s the meat—check the road just outside of town.”

She took the meat and bid him farewell, then trudged to the gate, past the guards that had told her about the dog, and onto the road.

She let the meat bang against her thigh as she walked, her eyes darting from side to side, searching for the dog. At the bend that obscured Falkreath from view, she heard a bark, and she held the meat out as she started calling for it.

The dog came out of the bushes, and instead of going for the meat, he said, “You are exactly what I was looking for.”

She dropped the meat, stumbling backwards several steps in surprise at the fact that the dog had just _talked_ to her. That wasn’t possible, dogs don’t talk!

“Did you just talk?” she asked, her voice low as she regarded him cautiously.

“Skyrim is now host to giant, flying lizards and two-legged cat-men… and you’re surprised by me? Yes. I just talked. And am continuing to do so. You see, my name is Barbas. And I have a problem I think you can help sort out.” 

She blinked, but nodded. She guessed it wasn’t the weirdest thing she’d seen—Oblivion, she’d been to _Sovngarde_. A talking dog was nothing.

“So, what could a dog need help with?”

“My master and I had a bit of a falling out. We got into an argument and it got rather… heated. He’s kicked me out until I can find someone who can settle our disagreement. That’s where you come in.”

She chuckled slightly. “So you’re a lost little puppy.”

The dog somehow rolled his eyes. “Very funny. My master is Clavicus Vile, Daedric Prince of wishes. As you can imagine, he’s quite the important person.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Thank you. Now, since he banished me, Vile’s been rather weak. He can’t manifest very far from one of his shrines. I know there’s a cult that worships him in Haemar’s Shame. We should be able to talk to him there. If this works out, I’ll make sure you’re rewarded. Just don’t trust any offer he makes you… okay?”

And then he started off, east and into the foothills surrounding the Throat of the World. He took her through Helgen, reminding her of the first time she had almost died, and halfway to Ivarstead before taking a sharp right into an opening in the side of one of the foothills.

When Elsebet entered, it widened out into a tunnel, the roof high above, and she followed Barbas through the snow that covered the floor, pulling her bow off her back in case any of the Daedric Prince’s followers were hostile—probably, it _was_ a Daedric cult.

They turned a bend, and a growl escaped Barbas’s throat as the sound of a spell firing up filled the small ice cavern, and Elsebet fired an arrow at the bandit on top of a wooden structure. He fell off the side, and she climbed up the structure and looted the chest on top of it before going back down and looting the gold off the bandit.

Barbas, who knew the layout of the cave, led her through a tunnel that twisted and plunged deeper into the earth, and at the end stood a woman in black robes. An arrow to her throat killed her before she knew they were there.

The tunnel opened out into a cavern, with a wooden structure the only way down to the floor several metres below. As the Nord got to the ledge, the dog deciding to go straight to ramp leading to the ground, the three people below, two dressed in robes similar to that of the woman’s and one in bandit hide armour, saw her. The two robed people, one man and one female, lit their hands with spells and aimed them at her.

She felt her lifeforce drain out of her as she pulled back the bowstring, her arms suddenly too tired to do much of anything. She grunted through the pain and exhaustion, aiming at the woman, and letting the string go. The arrow sailed through the air, puncturing her in the stomach, stopping her spell. She rolled out of the way of the man, who continued his own spell, and breathed heavily as she heard screams and the tearing of flesh, too far away from the ledge to see down.

Using more effort than she would have usually, Elsebet’s hand found her pack and plunged into it, digging around until it wrapped around a bottle. She pulled it out, and held up the red potion. She pushed herself to a sitting potion and uncorked the bottle, downing it and it’s bitter taste in one go. Gagging at the even sourer aftertaste, she fished out a stamina potion, and downed that one, too. Thankfully, it tasted better than the health potions did, and soon enough she was back on her feet and running after Barbas, who hadn’t waited for her.

Passing the shredded bodies of the three people, who had to be vampires, judging by the spell they had used, she continued to the next cavern, where the vampires had already been taken care of.

She must’ve passed out after she had been hit with the two spells, because she didn’t catch up to Barbas until he was killing the last vampire, at the foot of a statue. It depicted a man with horns on his head, his robes blowing around him, a masque held up in his hand.

She wasn’t really sure what to do with it, but something inside her told her to touch the base of it, so she did.

Nothing happened.

She glanced at Barbas, who motioned his head toward the statue.

Confused, she looked back at the shrine and said, “Hello?”

_Hello_.

She jumped backwards, stumbling over her feet. She was still giddy from the stamina potion, her veins full of fire, and she felt particularly reckless. Taking a deep breath, she approached the statue again and placed her hand not on the base, but on the leg.

“Lord Vile, I have a request for you.”

_By all means, let’s hear it_ , the voice of the Daedra echoed inside her head, much like it did with Molag Bal over a month earlier. _It’s the least I could do, since you already helped me grant one final wish for my last worshippers… They were suffering from vampirism, and begged me for a cure. Then you came along and ended their misery! I couldn’t have planned it better myself._

_So, what’s your heart’s desire? What kind of deal can we strike?_

“I’m just here to reunite you with Barbas.”

_Ugh. That insufferable pup? Forget it. Request denied. No deal. I’m glad to be rid of him. Even if it does mean I’m stuck in this pitiful shrine, in the back end of… nowhere._

He sounded a lot less sure at the end of his rant then at the beginning of it.

_Well… perhaps there is a way he could earn his place back at my side. Maybe. But no promises._

She narrowed her eyes. She knew the reputation of the Daedra of wishes, and how most deals were turned back on the person making the deal because the Prince tricked them. She glanced down at Barbas, the Daedric dog looking up at her expectantly, his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

She looked back up at the statue. “What’s your offer?”

_There’s an axe. An incredibly powerful axe. An axe powerful enough for me to have quite a bit of fun, indeed. If you bring it to me, I’ll grant you my boon. No strings attached. No messy surprises. At least, not for you. As I recall, it’s resting in Rimerock Burrow. Barbas can lead you right to it. The little mutt might even earn his place back at my side._

She felt the spirit of the daedra leave the statue, and she lowered her hand and took a step away from it.

Barbas barked. “I know exactly where the axe is. Follow me.”


	14. Godly Intervention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing. It's been a bit since I posted one of these chapters (not really but oh well) and I'm getting a lot more written now so hopefully I get it done before NaNoWriMo.
> 
> I estimate that I have about ten to fifteen chapters left, but it might be more. I want to do a couple things before I finish this, and the last couple quests for the Thieves Guild are right after the other, so yeah. Might be twenty more chapters.

“I need to rest.”

The road to Rimerock Burrow had been long, but the man that had possessed the axe had been easy enough to kill. The sun had set half an hour earlier, when they had just passed through Rorikstead,and were near Gjukar’s Monument. Elsebet had wanted to stay in Rorikstead, but the hound had wanted to keep going.

The only problem was that, while he was a creature of Oblivion and didn’t need sleep, she wasn’t, and she had been on her feet for three days straight now. Her feet ached, and she felt that if she took another step she would collapse.

Barbas scoffed. “You mortals are so frail. You slept last night, and the night before that.”

“I need sleep _every night_ , you mangy mutt,” she muttered. “Let’s just set up camp here, and you came wake me up just before dawn. Just please, I need to rest.”

The dog sighed. “Fine. But don’t complain to me if we’re too late to get back to Clavicus Vile.”

Sending him a glare, Elsebet pulled her weapons off her body, including the Rueful Axe, as Barbas had called it, that she had taken from some guy in a cave for a Daedric Prince. As she rolled out her bedroll and climbed into it, she wondered how her life got so weird.

That night she had nightmares. It was one she’d had multiple times, and it didn’t get less terrifying the more she had it.

She was back in Alftand, the Dwarven Ruin she had been forced to go through to get an Elder Scroll. Risorallen was fighting off a horde of Falmer while she stood still, watching, unable to move to go help him. She screamed as he was run through with a sword, and he collapsed, the Falmer disappearing.

Against her will, she ran over to him, pulling the sword out of his chest and putting her hands over the wound, tears falling down her cheeks and onto his chest, mixing with the crimson blood that spread across the armour and pooling beneath his body. With a sob, she started casting a healing spell, her hands glowing a soft yellow light, but he wouldn’t heal.

A hand grabbed her wrist, and she tried to pull back as Risorallen squeezed her wrist like iron. She looked up at his face with tear-filled eyes and saw him glaring down at her, eyes a rage of fury and his mouth set in a deep scowl.

“You’re the reason I’m dead,” he spat, his voice like poison. “You killed me.”

She shook her head slightly, muttered _no_ under her breath as she tried to pull away from him, but he wouldn’t let go. She started getting hysterical, her heart racing and her breaths shallow, until she felt like she was going to scream.

“That’s enough of that.”

She stopped struggling at the sound of the voice, unknown to her, a new to the nightmare. Then there was a loud _snap_ , and the surroundings melted away, revealing a familiar library, empty except for her and whoever had spoken before.

She turned towards the desk at the back of the Arcanaeum and saw a man, about mid-twenties, browsing one of the many shelves.

“You’re an interesting person, Elsebet Dragonslayer,” he said, pulling a book off one of the shelves and turning to her. His grey eyes sparkled with intelligence when they glanced at her, before snapping to the book he held. “I’m lucky I was able to talk to you like this. Akatosh is _very_ protective of you.”

“Who are you?”

He closed the book and returned it to the shelf, then turned to her fully and made his way over to her. “I am Julianos. Now, I don’t have long before Akatosh realises I’m in your head, but I just _had_ to see you for myself. The Dragonborn he made kill his Firstborn. _Very_ interesting.”

Elsebet took a step back, blinking at the god in front of her as what he said clicked. “Excuse me?”

“I forget myself, I haven’t talked to a mortal in years.”

“No, not that,” she said. “Akatosh is protective of me?”

A small smile appeared on his face. “Yes, he is. You’re his last creation, as there will be no more Dragonborns after you. Sure, your descendants might have the blood of dragons, but none of them will have the power you have, or the power you will gain.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, that you are going to get a lot more powerful, with the help of someone like you, and the Daedra Hermaeus Mora. If I were you, I’d fill that essence extractor before you go to Solstheim.”

She blinked, even more confused. “I never said I was going to Solstheim. Why would I go to Solstheim?”

Julianos smirked, but didn’t say anything. Then he tilted his head to the side, like he was listening to someone, and then sighed. “Akatosh has realised I’m here, but I wouldn’t have much time left, anyway. Looks like you’re about to be attacked.”

“Wait, what?”

Again, he didn’t say anything. He only lifted his hand and snapped his fingers.

Elsebet sat upright, gasping in air, and before she could do anything someone grabbed her by her lapels and pulled her to her feet.

She pushed them away, reaching for one of the weapons she had laid out next to her, but they were all gone, and a quick search found that they had been scattered to the middle of the cobble road. She looked back at whoever had pulled her to her feet with raised fists, and saw three people in brown robes with weird masks covering their faces. She scowled at them as the one in front spoke.

“You there! You’re the one they call Dragonborn?”

“Yes, I am,” she said, glad someone had recognised that she was the Dragonborn and not assume it was a man, but at the same time terrified that it was the beginning of the end of her anonymity. “What’s it to you?”

“Your lies fall on deaf ears, Deceiver! The True Dragonborn comes… You are but his shadow. When Lord Miraak appears all shall bear witness. None shall stand to oppose him!”

And then a fireball appeared in his hand, and he laughed it at Elsebet’s head

She rolled out of the way of the fireball as Barbas launched himself at one of the other masked men, and narrowed her eyes at the masked man in front of her. She was too far away from her weapons, but she might be able to use her Become Ethereal Shout and grab at least one of them. But the man would be expecting that, as he knew she was Dragonborn, working as some sort of cultist under someone that’s apparently the ‘True Dragonborn’, whatever that meant.

But she couldn’t think about that right now. She needed to kill these masked men. How, she didn’t know.

But her Thu’um did.

“ _FUS RO DAH!_ ”

The Shout left her body and slammed into the man, sending him flying backwards and making him fall on his back.

“ _WULD!_ ”

The Shout sent her forward, and she landed next to the prone man. She sat on top of him to stop him from getting up and grabbed a nearby rock. She lifted it high above her head and bashed it on the side of his head, again and again, until the mask was cracked and there was blood everywhere, covering the rock, the grass beneath the man, and Elsebet’s hand.

“Bash him one more time, I don’t think he’s dead yet,” Barbas said from next to her.

She scowled at him and dropped the rock, searching the man’s pockets to see if there were any valuables on him. Apart from a couple coins and a book, there wasn’t, but there was a note that was now stained slightly with his blood.

She wiped the blood on her hand off on his robes and opened the note.

_Board the vessel Northern Maiden docked at Raven Rock. Take it to Windhelm, then begin your search. Kill the False Dragonborn known as Elsebet Dragonslayer before she reaches Solstheim._

_Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased._

“Who the fuck is Miraak?”

Barbas went rigid next to her. “We should continue on to Haemar’s Shame. We don’t want to keep Clavicus Vile waiting.”

Humming under her breath, she folded the note and pocketed it, then packed up her stuff. Barbas led the way back to the cave Clavicus Vile had found himself stuck in.

The sun was setting by the time they got back to Haemar’s Shame. The entire time, she had been thinking about the note, and what Julianos had told her—they both mentioned Solstheim, and the god had told her that she would be getting even more powerful. The essence extractor was heavy in her pack, and sa she walked passed one of the vampires she drained it of blood with it, the vampire being an Altmer.

Barbas didn’t say anything the entire trip back, and even more so when they got to the cave. It wasn’t until they got to the Shrine that he barked.

She touched the statue, and the voice of Clavicus Vile filled her head.

_Ah, you’ve got the axe! And my dog. Splendid._

“I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain,” she said, staring up at the eyes of the statue. “Now you fulfil your end.”

_Excellent work. A hero and his faithful companion, retrieving the ancient artefact for the prince. It’s almost… storybook. Ah, but it almost seems a shame to give a weapon like that away, doesn’t it? I suppose I could be persuaded to let you keep it… But only if you use the axe to kill Barbas. Simple as that._

Elsebet blinked. Clavicus Vile was trying to get out of his end of the deal. How typical of him. But she looked over her shoulder, at the handle of the axe, and then at the dog that had kept her company the last couple days, filling her with chatter and the story of how the axe came to be. 

But she had promised to reunite Barbas with his master, so she looked back at the statue and said, “No deal. Take the axe and take back Barbas.”

She pulled the axe off her back and rested it against the statue’s feet.

_Hrmph. You’re no fun at all. Guess I’ll have to make my fun elsewhere. And with the pup back, I’ll be returned to my full power. There’s a whole world just waiting for me!_

“I knew I could trust you!” Barbas barked, a happy grin on his dog face.

_Yeah, yeah, dog gets master, master gets cosmic axe, everyone’s happy. Just get over here, mutt._

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he sees the light. I trusted you, now you trust me,” Barbas said. And then he was gone in the flurry of a purple and black vortex, and there was suddenly a dog statue next to Clavicus Vile.

_Ah, that feels so much better! You forget how nice supreme power feels until you’ve been stuck in a cave for a few years. It’s a shame you wished for something so dull as me taking back the mutt. Quite the lack of imagination on your part. A lack of ambition like that really ought to be punished. Perhaps by turning you into a worm, or maybe a few decades of…_

He seemed to falter, not knowing what to say after that. Just in case, Elsebet took a step back.

_Oh, fine. You can have my boon and be done with it. I’ve got more interesting deals to make, anyway._

Another portal appeared above her, and a heavy object fell into her hands. She turned it about, and the words _Masque of Clavicus Vile_ filled her mind. She looked up and saw it was identical to the one the Clavicus Vile in the statue was holding out.

She looked around the room a bit more to see if she missed any valuables, and then, with the Masque tucked securely into her pack, she left the cave and headed for Falkreath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it was high time for another god to intervene, so here's Julianos. My second favourite Divine, my favourite being Zenithar. Also, this chapter sets up the next story, what with the cultists, but she's not going to act on the note until later because of what Julianos told her.
> 
> See you guys next chapter!


	15. An Old Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing. You know how last chapter I said I still had a lot I wanted to do? Well, a lot of them are started in this chapter. Enjoy.

Elsebet stayed in Falkreath for the night, long enough to tell Lod about the whole Daedric dog thing. He understood, and payed her with a small coinpurse for her troubles. And then she had gone back to the longhouse, and became the newest Thane of Falkreath.

She was climbing down the ladder leading to the Cistern when Rune approached her.

“That took a while,” he said. “What happened, did you find yourself in the middle of a plot by a Daedric Prince?” He chuckled lightly, placing his hands on his hips.

“Yeah, actually,” she said, and started on her way to the Ragged Flagon.

He blinked as she passed him. “Wait, really?”

“Yup. I promised a demon dog to bring him back to his master. Didn’t realise his master was Clavicus Vile until _after_ I promised, and I don’t break promises.” She laughed at Rune’s expression. “So, anything happen while I was gone?”

“Brynjolf’s been waiting for you for a couple days, says it’s something important. Not sure what, though. Oh, and someone new joined the Guild. Some Nord named Gullie, I think. He joined yesterday.”

She nodded, and pushed open the cupboard hiding the Cistern from people that weren’t part of the Thieves Guild. She wondered what Brynjolf wanted with her, and why he had waited for her and not given it to one of the other thieves.

She turned the corner with Rune meaning to head to Delvin to tell him the job was done, but she stopped dead in her tracks as her eyes landed on someone that she never thought she’d see again, and she went back around the corner, pulling Rune back with her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, but she ignored him as she poked her head around the corner again, wanting to make sure she had actually seen that person.

But yes, she had. He was sitting at a table with Delvin, facing Elsebet, totally engrossed in his conversation.

Covering her mouth and feeling tears weld up in her eyes, she pressed her back against the wall and slid down it, curling into a ball. She could feel the confusion rolling off of Rune, but she felt like if she took her hand off her mouth, she was going to cry.

It had been eight years since she had seen him, and it didn’t look like he’d changed at all. She screwed her eyes shut and rested her forehead on her knees, trying to keep at bay the memories that had resurfaced, the ones she had pushed down, trying to keep herself happy and forget him, but there was no forgetting him.

“Are you okay?”

That made something snap inside her, and she looked at the wall adjacent to her, lowering her hand and wiping her face of the fear tears that had managed to escape. If she stayed there, he would find her, and she didn’t know what she’d do if she was confronted with him. Would she punch him? Probably. He had made everything worse after Jorten had died. It would be in her right to want revenge.

The problem was that she didn’t. She was fine with him not being in her life, no matter how important he had been to her all those years ago.

Gods, she had been eleven. Still very impressionable. Would she be able to forgive him?

She hoped not.

She got to her feet and grabbed Rune’s hand, dragging him away from the Ragged Flagon and into the Cistern.

“What’s going on?” Rune asked. “Why are you acting so weird?”

She ignored his questions. “Where’s Brynjolf?”

“Probably in the training room,” he said. “But are we going to talk about what just happened?”

“Nope,” she said. “See you around.”

She turned on her heel and headed to the training room, pushing passed Niruin, who had been eavesdropping, and sent her a sly smirk. No doubt he thought the two of them kissed, or had done something more, based on the wording Rune used, and she was fine with him thinking that, as long as the rumour didn’t ruin her friendship with Rune, if she could even call it that. He was nice, but she didn’t know if she wanted someone close to her again just yet. 

But just in case, she didn’t want what little was between them to be ruined, just in case she decided she did. Or, maybe she wouldn’t. Only time could tell.

Brynjolf was, indeed, in the training room, overlooking Thrynn as he beat up a straw man. He saw her enter, and made his way over to her.

“There you are, lass,” he said. “What took so long on the Falkreath job?”

“I got mixed up with a demon dog,” she said vaguely, “but I’ve taken care of it. Rune said you wanted to see me.”

He nodded. “Aye, lass. Maven Black-Briar has asked for you by name.”

She blinked at him, surprised. Then a grin appeared on her face, and she put her hands on her hips jokingly. “Sure, but will I come back alive?”

He laughed. “If it was like that she wouldn’t be asking for you, she’d be calling on the Dark Brotherhood. It’s just business.”

The grin became a smirk. If assassins were all she had to worry about from Maven Black-Briar, then there wasn’t really anything to worry about. She’d killed Alduin, assassins were nothing.

“What does she want from me?”

“That’s between you and Maven and I prefer to keep it that way. Don’t worry about it. Maven’s business dealings usually involve quite a bit of gold for her people.”

“Then I’ll be off. I’ll come back here, it’s late and I’m tired.”

He nodded and turned back to Thrynn, and Elsebet took that as her cue to leave.

Back in the Cistern, Rune was giving her a pointed look, and she ignored him as she passed through and back to the Ragged Flagon, where she perilously peered around the corner to see if the man was gone. She sighed when she saw he was, and sat down across from Delvin.

The old Breton raised his tankard at her. “Ah, the newest Thane of Falkreath, I believe?”

She smiled. “Yup.” She pulled the item she had been tasked with stealing out of her pocket and placed it on the table between them. “The job took longer than expected, but here’s the gem. It’s quite the story.”

“I bet,” he said, exchanging the gem with a coinpurse. “Now, I guess you’ve already spoken with Brynjolf considering Vex said she saw you enter the Cistern, but I haven’t seen you yet. Am I right?”

She nodded. “Aye.”

“I have a job for you in Whiterun, as I have a pretty good idea of what Maven wants you to do. It’s actually a special request from one Olfrid Battle-Born. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. Anyway, I want you to go with Rune. I have no idea what he wants you to do, but it’s always best to have backup.”

She nodded, committing the name to memory. _Olfrid Battle-Born. Right. Got it._

But she also groaned internally. Rune was going to keep asking what was going on with her, especially since he had seen her breakdown, something she hoped no one would ever see. But he did, and now she had to clean it up.

She stood up and headed for the Cistern. But when she turned the corner, the cupboard was opened into her face, and she stumbled backwards as pain erupted in her nose. Swearing under her breath she raised her hand to her face to see if her nose was bleeding.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t— _Elsebet?_ ”

She looked up quickly, forgetting her nose for a second, and into the dark eyes of the man she had been trying to avoid.

Garthar stared at her, forgetting how to breathe. It had been years since he’d seen her, but he would recognise those eyes anywhere—there was no one else with them, and one of them was his. There was a trail of blood trickling down over her mouth, but she either ignored it or didn’t know it was there, as she stared right back at him.

She shook her head and pushed passed him with more strength than he thought possible, and almost ran to the Cistern. Her hand went to her mouth, where she tasted blood, and she swore again as she wiped tears from her eyes as she stormed through the Cistern, grabbing Rune by the arm and dragging him to the alcove with the ladder.

“What’s going on?” he asked her.

“I’ll tell you, just later, okay?” she said, eyes flicking to the tunnel leading to the Ragged Flagon, waiting for Garthar to come through, but he didn’t. “Delvin has a job for us in Whiterun, but I need to go to Maven first.”

He nodded, and she climbed up the ladder, pushing the trapdoor open and pulling the lever to open the coffin.

Rune came up behind her as she climbed the stairs, and headed for the Bee and Barb, where everyone went when the sun went down. When she entered the Inn, she instructed Rune to stay by the doorway as she saw Maven in one of the quieter corners of the busy inn and made her way over.

“Maven Black-Briar?” she asked, making the older woman look up.

She closed the book she was reading and looked her up and down with a quizzical eye, not doubt judging every bit of her. “So, you’re the one. You don’t look do impressive. What took so long?”

Elsebet sat down across from her and crossed her ankles. “I was Falkreath, ma’am, doing a job for Delvin. But why don’t we skip the conversation and get right to what you want me to do?”

Maven hummed appreciatively. “You’re a firebrand, aren’t you? It’s about time someone sent me someone with business sense. I was beginning to think he was running some sort of beggar’s guild over there.”

_They certainly didn’t discriminate what type of people joined the Guild,_ she thought with a tight smile. “Where do I begin?”

“Head to the Bannered Mare in Whiterun and look for Mallus Maccius. He’ll fill you in on all the details,” she said shortly, and she reopened her book.

Elsebet stood up and headed over where Rune was standing next to the door like she instructed.

“What was that all about?” he asked her as they left the Inn.

“She has a job for me in Whiterun,” she said. “It was why Delvin gave us the job there.”

He nodded, and noticed she was heading to the gates leading out of the city. “Wait, where are you going?”

“To the stables, getting a carriage to Whiterun. We can sleep on the carriage, and we’ll get to Whiterun tomorrow as the sun sets.” She looked at him. “Sound good?”

He stared at her for a second. “Do you not want to go back to the Cistern for a reason?”

She sighed, knowing the question was coming. “Yeah. I’ll tell you in the morning, I promise.”

“How do I know you’ll keep it? We hardly know each other.”

“What did I tell you earlier?” she asked, a hand on the one of the doors leading out of the city. “I don’t break promises.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, thinking. It was quiet between them, the only sound coming from the nearby inn. “You’re hiding something. But, I guess I can’t argue that.”

And with a smile, the two of them pushed open the gates of Riften and into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you guys in the next chapter!


	16. A Lovely Carriage Chat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing. I'm really on a roll with these chapters, I hope I keep this up.

 

As the carriage jolted over the uneven cobble road leading around the Throat of the World, Elsebet thought about what to tell Rune. Said Imperial thief was waiting patiently for her to speak, as it wasn’t like she could run—well, she could, but she wasn’t going to.

She took a deep breath, and spoke. “That new thief, the one you said joined two days ago.”

“What about him?”

“You said his name was Gullie, but it’s not, it’s Garthar.”

Rune blinked at her. “Who do you know that?”

She looked at the trees behind Rune, not wanting to meet his eyes. The words seemed to be stuck in her throat, refusing to escape. She had promised him, she had to tell him. But the words wouldn’t leave her.

When they did, they came out in a croaky whisper. “He’s my father.”

Rune blinked. “Okay… and what’s wrong with that?”

“What _wrong_ ,” she said in a sudden burst of anger, “is that he _abandoned_ us after my brother died! I haven’t seen him since I was eleven. That’s what’s wrong with that.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realise.”

She waved her hand in dismissal. “It’s fine. I don’t like talking about it. He’s actually the one that taught me how to steal.”

“Great parenting there.”

She laughed, and finally looked at Rune. He had shaved recently, his stubble was gone. Too bad, she like his stubble. Oh well, he could always grow it back.

“What about your parents? There has to be a story about why your name is Rune.”

“I didn’t actually know my birthparents, and I don’t know my birth name,” he said, making Elsebet look at him in surprise. “My father told me he found me as a young boy in the wreckage of a ship that sank off the coast near Solitude. All he found in my pocket was a tiny smooth stone with some sort of strange runes.”

“Do you know what they mean?”

He shook his head. “No one does. I’ve even taken the damn thing to the College of Winterhold. I must have spent every last coin I’ve made with the Guild trying to find out what it means.”

She shrugged, a small smile on her lips. “Maybe you aren’t meant to know.”

“Perhaps. They could be nonsense… inane scribbles done by someone in idle boredom. But if not… if they actually mean something, they might tell me where I’m from… what ship I was on. Everything.”

“So who gave you your name.”

A smile appeared on his face. “Actually, the fisherman who found me, the man I call my father gave it to me. Thought it was fitting I suppose. I never changed it, because it never felt right to do so.”

“Nice story,” she said, looking at the scenery. “You know, I’ve never told anyone outside of Winterhold about my father. Not even my best friend knew—I didn’t get to tell him about him before he died. But then again, he didn’t tell me he was a werewolf, so I guess we’re even.”

“I’m sorry about your friend, and your brother,” he said. “But I find it funny that you’re from Winterhold.”

She let out a noise of indignation. “What’s wrong with Winterhold?”

“It’s so barren and cold, I wouldn’t expect someone like you to be from there.”

She crossed her arms and gave him a pointed look. “‘Someone like me’? What does that mean?”

His face went red, and he looked away. Elsebet narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“What is it, Rune?”

“Nothing.”

She rolled her eyes. “Your face is as red as my hair, lad. What did you mean by that?”

“Well, from—from what I’ve seen,” he stammered, his face somehow going redder, “you’re funny, kind, and, uh, very pretty.”

She blinked at him, not expecting that. The last time someone had called her pretty was when Hadvar, the soldier that had helped her in Helgen, had called her hair gorgeous, and that had been half a year ago. And then she felt her face heat up, and she ducked her head.

If someone were to look at them now, they’d only see two blushing idiots that were obviously interested in each other. Unfortunately for those two idiots, they didn’t know the other idiot was interested in them—one didn’t even know they liked the other that way. She’d never felt it before.

But lucky for them, the blushing stopped pretty quickly, and they were back to talking about each other.

At the back of Elsebet’s mind, she hoped that no one in Whiterun would address her as Dragonborn, especially the Jarl, as he liked to call her that and not her actual name.

When they got to Whiterun, the sky was a splash of oranges, reds, and purples, the sun setting over the Whiterun plains.

During the carriage-ride, Elsebet and Rune had made a plan of what to do—they’d go to Olfrid Battle-Born first and get whatever job he wanted them to do, then do it, and then go to the Bannered Mare and find Mallus Maccius, whoever that was, and get his job. Maybe Zedronymus could help point him out.

As they passed Breezehome heading to the Battle-Born house, Elsebet was reminded of the Daedric artefact in her pack, and she had to hide it in under the bookshelf with all her other artefacts, and maybe check on the Elder Scroll. She had recently read the book _An Accounting of the Scrolls_ , and learned that they don’t like to stay in one place for a long time. Maybe she’d be able to sneak away from Rune, but she doubted it.

They’d grown close during the carriage ride. They’d talked a lot, about their lives and what they had wanted to be when they were children. Every time Elsebet looked at Rune, there was a pang in her chest, one she didn’t recognised, but it didn’t take long for her to realise _Oh gods, I have a crush_.

She had to admit, Rune was handsome, but she didn’t really care about that—it was only an added bonus. He was funny, kind, and seemed a lot more grounded to reality than she was. It made her conflicted, because she wanted to be friends with him, but didn’t want to get close to him because everyone that had become close to her had been hurt in some way—Lydia and Risorallen were dead, Arcaelo hated her now, and Cyres, Aletara, and Zedronymus no longer had their younger brother.

She didn’t want to hurt anyone else.

They got to the House of Clan Battle-Born, and Elsebet knocked heavily on the door. A couple seconds later the door opened, revealing Alfhild Battle-Born, Olfrid’s daughter, a young blonde-haired Nord.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“We’re looking for Olfrid,” Elsebet said. “Is he in?”

She nodded, and opened the door to allow them in. They did, and she shouted for him.

He came out of one of the rooms, and he narrowed his eyes at them. “Can I help you two?”

“Delvin Mallory sent us,” Rune said.

“Alfhild, would you mind leaving the room?” She did, and he turned to them in delight. “You’re here! And not a moment too soon. If anything should happen to Arn, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Slow down,” Elsebet said. “Who’s Arn?”

“A close friend of mine. We fought together on the battlefield for many years until old age got the better of us. Now it’s up to me to save him one more time… this time from the executioner’s block in Solitude.”

“Solitude? Then why are we here in Whiterun?” she asked, slightly exasperated.

“The city guard in Solitude is seeking Arn for a serious crime. When he fled here, he was arrested for drunken behaviour. Can you imagine?” He scoffed. “Fortunately, his identity isn’t known to the authorities in Whiterun, so there’s still a chance to save him.”

Elsebet nodded. “Alright. Just point us to the prisons.” Because no matter how many times she’d been in Whiterun, she still didn’t know where they were.

He held up a hand. “Hold on a moment. This is more than a simple prison break. I want to have Arn’s name stricken from the record books permanently. I’m setting him up with a new identity. It’s the only way to keep the guards permanently off his trail.”

“So what’s the job?” Rune asked.

“The job is two-fold. First, steal a letter that was sent from Solitude warning Whiterun’s guards to be on the lookout for Arn. The second is to change Arn’s name in the prison registry to his new identity.”

Elsebet shared a look with Rune. “Sounds easy.”

“If it was easy, I would have hired a local thug instead of a professional. You see both of these items are kept inside Dragonsreach, and they don’t allow visitors inside the Jarl’s or the Steward’s chambers.” Olfrid took a deep breath. “One more thing. If you get caught, I can’t afford to be connected to you. Remember that before you do something stupid.”

She ground her teeth, stopping herself from telling him she never did anything stupid. “Where’s the letter being kept?”

“I have eyes within Dragonsreach. They tell me that all correspondence from other holds are sent to the Jarl’s private chambers.”

“And the prison registry?”

“In the steward’s study, in his chambers. Are there any more questions, or are you going to do the job.”

Elsebet opened her mouth to say something, but Rune grabbed her arm and started pulling her out of the house, saying, “No, there isn’t. Thank you.”

When the door closed behind them, Elsebet wrenched her arm out of Rune’s grip, and took a step away from him.

“You really don’t like people giving you orders, do you?” he asked.

“It goes against my very being,” she ground out, and sighed through her nose, calming down. “I have a way into Dragonsreach.”

He nodded. “Right, you’re a Thane. Are they allowed in the private quarters?”

“I think so. You stay outside, and I’ll go get the letter. Sound good?”

“I don’t like you going there alone. Delvin sent us both on this job for a reason.”

“He probably didn’t know I’m Thane here,” she said, though he probably did. She sighed and pulled her timepiece over her head and gave it to Rune. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, then you can come look for me. I’m sorry, but I’m not used to teamwork.”

She left Rune standing outside the Battle-Born house and made her way up to Dragonsreach. One of the guards saluted her as Dragonborn, and she gave him a tight smile before he helped her push open one of the huge doors leading inside.

Jarl Balgruuf was sitting on his throne, as usual, with Proventus on his right and Irileth on his left. She waved at him as she passed, and he gave a small wave back, a confused look on his face, no doubt wondering why she was there, but left her alone.

She was glad that the guards stationed outside the private quarters let her pass, because if they didn’t she didn’t have a plan B.

It wasn’t long before she was meeting up with Rune, who had been pacing the length of the Wind District, and back to Olfrid Battle-Born.

“Here’s your payment,” he said, handing them each a hefty coinpurse. “Tell Delvin he has my support and all the weight it carries in Whiterun from now on. I think he’ll be quite pleased.”

When they were out of the house for the second time that night, Elsebet’s borrowed timepiece back around her neck, and heading towards the Bannered Mare to talk to Mallus Maccius, she turned to Rune with a smug smile.

“Don’t say it.”

“Told you so.”


	17. An Infested Meadery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing.

The second Elsebet stepped foot in the Bannered Mare, she was flagged down by Zedronymus, the Imperial werewolf dragging her towards one of the tables in the corners, where Aletara was sipping at a tankard of what looked like wine.

“It’s been a while,” she said as Elsebet sat down in the chair next to her, Rune standing up behind her nervously.

“It has,” Elsebet said. “But I am actually here for a reason, so we can chat afterwards. Zed, do you know which one of these people is Mallus Maccius?”

He blinked. “Maccius? Why do you want that skeever?”

“Reasons. Where is he?”

He pointed out the lone Imperial on the other side of the inn, staring at the wall and looking like he was waiting for someone. She thanked him, and she and Rune went over to him.

Mallus looked up with a scowl as they sat down across from him. “Can’t a man drink in peace?”

“Maven said you were expecting me,” Elsebet said.

Nodding once, he leaned forward and kept his voice low. “I’m going to keep this short ‘cause we’ve got a lot to do. Honningbrew’s owner, Sabjorn, is going to hold a tasting for Whiterun’s Captain of the Guard tomorrow night and we’re going to poison the mead.”

“You have the poison?”

He chuckled sadistically. “No, no. That’s the beauty of the whole plan. We’re going to get Sabjorn to give it to us. The meadery has quite the pest problem and the whole city knows about it. Pest poison and mead don’t mix well, you know what I mean?”

“How do we fit in?”

“You’re going to happen by and lend poor old Sabjorn a helping hand. He’s going to give you the poison to use on the pests, but you’re also going to dump it into the brewing vat.”

“Clever,” Rune said.

He nodded and leaned back in his chair. “Maven and I spent weeks planning this. All we need is someone like you to get in there and get it done. Now get going before Sabjorn grows a brain and hires someone else to do the dirty work.”

“How do we get to the brewing vats?” Rune asked.

“Both of the buildings are connected by tunnels made by the pests infesting the meadery. There’s an entrance to it in the basement storeroom of the warehouse that used to be boarded over. I’ve already removed the boards so the meadery would get infested. That’s where you should start.”

Saying farewell to him, the two stood up and made their way to the table two of the Belinius siblings occupied, where Aletara was laughing at something her brother had said. The two of them sat down with them, and Elsebet introduced Rune.

“Guys, this is Rune. Rune, these are Zedronymus and Aletara Belinius, two of Arcaelo’s siblings.”

He looked at them solemnly. “It must suck being her sister.”

“Oh, it does,” Zedronymus said.

Aletara laughed. “The funny thing is she’s the youngest of all of us.”

“She’s very aggressive,” he said. “She’s threatened to skin me on multiple occasions.”

“Yeah, that’s Arcaelo for you,” Zedronymus said, shaking his head. He turned to Elsebet. “So, what’re you in Whiterun for? Doing jobs for the Thieves Guild?” he asked, nodding at the armour she wore.

She nodded. “Yup. Just finished a job with Olfrid Battle-Born, and now I have one with Mallus Maccius.”

“I was wondering why you wanted to talk to him. He works at Honningbrew Meadery as payment to the owner for borrowing some money.”

The four of them talked for a while, before Aletara retired to the room she had rented at the Mare and Zedronymus went back to Jorrvaskr. Elsebet led Rune out of the inn, much to his confusion.

“Wait, are we going to Sabjorn now?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

“No, we’re going to the Dragonborn’s house,” she said, pulling a key from her pocket. “She gave me a spare one in case I found myself in Whiterun and needed a place to stay. There’s a spare room for you to sleep in.”

“Oh,” he said, and stayed quiet.

When they had entered the house, she showed him the spare room, then went to her own room and got changed into a nightgown. But she didn’t go straight to bed—no, she took the Masque of Clavicus Vile from her pack and descended the rickety stairs with them, and placed it underneath the floorboards in her alchemy room.

Then she went to bed, but she didn’t sleep straight away. She was afraid of have nightmares, like she was every night, and it wasn’t until the exhaustion of travel washed over her that she fell asleep.

In the morning, she jerked awake with a scream, breathing heavy and covered in sweat. Rune came bursting into the room with his sword, hair going everywhere and face dazed, the start of a stubble on his chin.

“Are you okay?” he asked, lowering the sword.

She nodded, placing a hand on her forehead. “Yeah, just a nightmare.”

He stood there a second before he nodded himself, then left. When she got up five minutes later, she found him sitting in front of the cooking spit, staring at the empty pot and the cold fire pit underneath it, obviously hungry.

She laughed. “Come on, let’s go get some breakfast.”

They headed to the Bannered Mare where they had breakfast with Aletara, Zedronymus most likely still sleeping, and headed to the Honningbrew Meadery just outside Whiterun’s gates. When they entered, an old balding man was sweeping away the corpse of a dead skeever, nose turned up in disgust.

“Are you Sabjorn?”

He jumped, and turned to them, brandishing his broom like a sword. He lowered it to the ground and looked at them once he realised they were customers.

“Yeah. Want some Honningbrew mead?”

“We heard you have a pest problem, and we’d like to help,” Rune said.

The Nord blinked at them. “Really? Why?”

“Because we’re nice,” Elsebet snapped. “Do you want help or not?”

“Yes, though don’t expect to be paid until afterwards,” he said with a huff, obviously not happy with her tone. He went behind the counter and placed a small bottle on the top from below it. “This is the poison. Make sure to get the nest. There’s a way through to it through the basement, which is through there,” he said, pointing to the door to their right. “Don’t come back until it’s done.”

Elsebet snatched the poison off the counter and led the way to the basement, where she pushed open the door with more force than necessary and was ambushed by a skeever.

Screaming, she unsheathed Dragonbane and stabbed the skeever with it, making sparks go through its body. It fell off the end of the blade, limp, and the electricity that usually ran up and down the blade disappeared, signalling that the enchantment had run out.

She’d have to go to Farengar and get it redone.

Rune stared at the sword as she sheathed it and took the bow off her back, readying an arrow on it.

“What?” she asked when she noticed.

He looked away quickly. “Nothing.”

She frowned at him and went to where the wood wall had been ripped open on the far wall, behind a couple crates with bear traps and dead skeever in front of it. Stepping over the bear traps, she led the way down the tunnel, brushing away a few cobwebs.

The tunnel widened and a skeever launched itself at her. She shot it before it could reach her, and she stepped out of the way as the body continued flying, hitting Rune in the chest and making him stumble back in disgust.

Meanwhile, she shot another skeever, and Rune unsheathed his sword.

They continued on, stepping carefully so as not to alert the skeever, their way illuminated by the glowing mushrooms growing on the tunnel walls.

They got to a small cave with spiders and skeever inside, and she shivered as she let an arrow fly into the nearest spider, sending it flying into the wall behind it.

Rune ran out in front of her as she continued shooting everything that moved besides Rune, and even then it was a close call.

The next non-tunnel section they got to was a massive cavern, probably naturally made, by the looks of it. She pulled on her bowstring and shot one of the skeever inside, alerting the other skeever and something that wasn’t a skeever.

“Who’s there?” a male voice called out. “Show yourself!”

She shot another skeever, and a man came running towards the entrance of the tunnel with sparks in his hands and his skin glowing from a protection spell. He yelled at them and aimed his spells at them, and the lightning leapt at them as Elsebet grabbed Rune by the lapels and pulling him with her out of the way.

She nocked an arrow and aimed it at him, but she had to duck as he sent a flurry of lightning towards her, and she realised that she either needed him distracted or she needed to get near him to be able to kill him.

Rune charged at him, drawing the man’s attention from Elsebet, and she got her chance. She pulled back on the bowstring and, on the exhale, let go. It flew through the air and hit the man in the shoulder, stopping him from casting with his right arm. He let out a scream, and then there was an arrow in his chest, and he fell backwards, dead.

She approached the man, scowling down at his corpse as his blood pooled beneath him. “What kind of man would live beneath a brewery with a bunch of skeever?”

“Dunno,” Rune said, “but I found the nest.”

She went over to him, pulling the bottle of poison out of her pack, and uncorked it and tipped half of it into the pile of straw and sticks. She picked the nearby chest and shared the loot inside with Rune, and then they went through a tunnel leading upwards and into another basement, probably that of the vat building.

When she opened the door, she found it to be the case.

Five minutes later, they were exiting the vat building with an empty bottle of poison and a key to the building. They each got two hundred and fifty gold each, and then were sent on their way.

And they left, heading for Whiterun, knowing they would have to go back later to watch the taste tasting with Mallus.

In the time they had to kill, they told Mallus that the plan was a success and they had poisoned both the skeever nest and the right vat. He had congratulated them and told them to stay in Whiterun until he came to see them again to see if it had been right or not.

“Looks like we don’t have to go back to the meadery after all,” Elsebet said as the two of them headed up to Dragonsreach to recharge Dragonbane. 

“Nope,” Rune said. “What do we do until then?”

Elsebet shrugged. “I only want to get my sword recharged. I don’t have any other plans.”

They entered Dragonsreach, and Elsebet made a beeline for the Court Mage’s quarters. Farengar was happy to see her again, and asked her what she was doing there.

“Could you recharge my sword for me?” she asked, unsheathing Dragonbane and showing it to him.

“Of course, for a fee,” he said, taking the sword off of her and studying it.

“How much?”

“Depends on what type of soul gem is needed to recharge it. I’m thinking a greater soul gem so about six hundred septims.”

She handed over the gold and he went to work on recharging it.

“Wanna get something to eat?” Rune asked. “I’m hungry.”

“We had breakfast not too long ago, pig,” she laughed, poking him in the arm.

“Well, sorry that I’m not used to killing skeever. It made me build up an appetite.”

“Maybe you should have eaten more.”

“Maybe you should shut your mouth.”

The two of them had inched closer, until they were almost nose-to-nose. Elsebet was about half an inch shorter than the Imperial, making her eye-level with his nose, and her eyes flicked down to his lips, plump and inviting, and probably soft. She wanted to know if they were soft. She started leaning in…

“Here you go.”

The two of them jumped apart as Farengar spoke to them, holding out Dragonbane, the blade sporting its usual sparks. Elsebet let out a squeak and took it off the Court Mage, sheathing it at her side.

“Thank you!”

“It’s my pleasure,” Farengar said. “It’s a fine blade for a warrior such as yourself. Take care of it.”

“Will do,” she said, mock saluting him.

He gave her a smile as they left, heading for the entrance of Dragonsreach.

“But seriously, I’m starving.”

“Dude!”


	18. A Slimy, Scaly Bastard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing. I'm not sure about the ending, but here you go!

Given the all-clear that the meadery was now under the control of Maven Black-Briar, Elsebet and Rune headed back to Riften.

They had ended up going to Jorrvaskr to talk to Zedronymus, as Aletara had left to return to Winterhold, and they had found him in a fistfight with a blond Nord man with bright green eyes that looked a lot like the Harbinger, Kodlak Whitemane. She realised it was his son, Valdor, when one of the other Companions that was egging them on called out, “Pummel him, Whitemane!”

Elsebet had ended up in an arm wrestle with him, and had almost won, despite the fact that Valdor’s bicep was as big as her head.

There was strength in the twig that was the Dragonborn, probably _because_ she was the Dragonborn.

That night, after the all-clear from Mallus, she had remembered that Maven wanted her to look for Sabjorn’s silent partner, so she and Rune had gone back to the meadery and turned his quarters over, only to find his drawers locked. Mallus had then given them the key, and Rune looked through the drawer while Elsebet unlocked the room connected to his room.

She opened it and looted it, which included a Honningbrew Decanter, reminding her that she still hadn’t sold that bee statue to Delvin. She’d be able to sell both of them once they got back.

“I found something!” Rune yelled, getting Elsebet’s attention.

She made her way over to him. “What is it?”

He didn’t say anything, but handed her a note. She read it.

_Sabjorn,_

_Within the enclosed crates, you’ll find the final payment. As we discussed, Honningbrew Meadery should now begin brewing mead at full production. In regards to your concerns about interference from Maven Black-Briar, I can assure you that I’ll do everything in my power to keep her assets and her cronies at bay. This is the beginning of a long and successful future for both of us._

And at the top of the page was a symbol she’d seen before—a dagger on top of a black circle.

She swore. “I’m bringing this back to Maven.”

When they got back to Riften two days later, she and Rune had split up at the Bee and Barb, where Maven probably was. When she entered, she watched as a child ran around punching other children on the arm for it being the first of the month.

As she made her way to where Maven was sitting, in the exact same spot she had been days prior, she suddenly remembered that it was the first of First Seed, meaning that it was no longer winter and that it should start warming up soon. The first planting of the year was in six days. Funny how the days flew when you were locked up in a slave labour prison.

She sat down across from Maven and placed the note on the table between them. “Job’s finished. Here’s the information you requested.”

Maven picked up the note and read through it. She huffed and looked up at her. “This doesn’t tell me much. The only thing that could identify Sabjorn’s partner is this odd little symbol.”

Elsebet nodded. “Yes. I’ve seen that symbol before.”

She huffed again. “Well, whoever this mysterious marking represents, they’ll regret starting a war with me.” She slid the note back over to Elsebet. “You should bring this information to the Thieves Guild immediately. There’s also the matter of your payment.” She took an overfull coinpurse out of the pack on her hip and gave it to the Nord opposite her. I believe you’ll find this more than adequate for your services.”

Elsebet thanked the older woman, and stood up and left the Bee and Barb, heading for the secret entrance to the Thieves Guild. She walked straight over to where Mercer was muttering to himself and placed the note on the desk in front of him, causing him to look up.

“What’s this?”

“A document Rune and I found at Honningbrew Meadery,” Elsebet said, her arms crossed against her chest. “It has the same symbol as the one at Goldenglow.”

He hummed, opening the letter. He swore and then threw it back down on his desk. “Whoever this woman is, she’s tricky. But luckily for us, she’s gotten sloppy. If you remember the deed for Goldenglow, it stated that a ‘Gajul-Lei’ was the broker for the sale. My sources say that that was one of the aliases used for one of our contacts in the East Empire Trading Company, Gulum-Ei. The slimy bastard.”

“The East Empire Trading Company is in Solitude, right?”

Mercer nodded. “Right. I want you to find him and ask him about this. He’s most likely not going to open up without a bribe, though.”

“And if he doesn’t give me all the information?”

“Follow him. He’s most likely going to flee to wherever he keeps his goods when you start questioning him. Because of that, I want you to go alone this time. Understood.”

She nodded. “I work better alone, anyway.”

“Get some rest,” he said. “You’re off to Solitude in the morning.”

* * *

Elsebet had never gone to Solitude just because she wanted to. The first time she did, it was because she needed to infiltrate the Thalmor Embassy. The second time, she needed to get General Tulius to High Hrothgar. This was the third time, and she was going to stalk someone.

She hadn’t even been when Barbas took her to Rimerock Burrow—it was quicker to go straight there and back from Haemar’s Shame.

She really wished the next time she was in Solitude it was because she wanted to, not because she needed to. Whenever that would be.

She found Gulum-Ei in the Winking Skeever Inn, in one of the alcoves that had a table in it. Carved into the wall next to him was the Shadowmark for Fence, so this must’ve been where he was most of the time—just sitting around, waiting for people to pawn him stolen goods.

“So, what do we have here?” the Argonian asked, looking Elsebet up and down. “Hmm. Let me guess. By your scent, I’d say you were from the Guild. But that can’t be true, because I told Mercer I wouldn’t deal with them anymore.”

“I’m here about Goldenglow Estate,” she said, looking down at him.

He shook his head slightly and looked at her condescendingly. “I don’t deal in land or property. Now, if you’re looking for goods, you’ve come to the right person.”

“You can drop the act now… Gajul-Lei.”

He did an immediate one-eighty. “Oh, wait… did you say Goldenglow Estate? My apologies. I’m sorry to say I know very little about that… bee farm, was it?”

Anger and frustration started filling her, and her Thu’um wanted to crawl up her throat and incinerate him. But instead of that, she said, “You acted as a broker for its new owner.”

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. I can’t be expected to remember every deal I handle.”

She was _so close_ to snapping and setting him on fire, but she remembered what Mercer had said.

“What would it take to identify the buyer?”

He raised his eye ridge. “Well, now that you mention it, there is something I’ve been trying to get my hands on. I have a buyer looking for a case of Firebrand Wine. There just so happens to be a single case in the Blue Palace. Bring it to me, and we’ll talk about Goldenglow Estate.”

There was something every thief needed to know when taking stuff from a crowded place— _confidence is key_. If you’re nervous and looking around everywhere, people are going to know that something’s up. But if you act confident and look like you belong there, no one is going to give you a second glance.

And that is exactly how Elsebet managed to get the case of Firebrand Wine right out the front door of the Blue Palace. _Confidence_.

She placed the case of wine on the table next to Gulum-Ei. “Here’s your wine.”

“Good. Can’t have a buyer getting impatient and looking elsewhere for this, can we? Here, take this,” he said, and handed her a small drawstring sack. When she opened it she saw a handful of precious gems and soul gems. “I certainly can’t use them, but I suppose I need to pay you something for the goods.”

She scoffed and let her hand fall to her side, the small bag bumping against her leg. “You’re trying to bribe me now?”

He smiled, shaking his head. “Not at all. I consider it an investment in prolonging my life. As far as Goldenglow Estate goes, I’ll tell you what I know. I was approached by a woman who wanted me to act as a broker for something big. She flashed a bag a gold in my face and said all I had to do was pay Aringoth for the estate. I brought him the coin and walked away with her copy of the deed.”

“Did she say why she was doing this?”

“Not at all. I tend not to ask too many questions when I’m on the job. I’m sure you understand. However, I did notice she was quite angry and it was being directed at Mercer Frey.”

“That’s it? No name or anything?”

“In this business we rarely deal in names; our identity comes from how much coin we carry.”

Elsebet crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a pointed look. “I think you’re lying to me.”

He sighed and stared up at her. “Look, that’s all I know. I never promised you I’d have all the answers.” He stood up, then, making Elsebet take a few steps back. “Now, since our transaction is done, I’ll be on my way.”

And he left the Winking Skeever.

Making sure to stay out of his line of sight, Elsebet followed him to the docks. It was alive with people as they unpacked ships full of goods and set them on their way again, and she had to get close to the Argonian so as not to lose him. He ducked into the door leading into the harbour, which she guessed was the East Empire Trading Company warehouse. She waited a minute before following him inside.

The warehouse was huge and dark, the water in the middle empty of ships. Elsebet noticed a path leading over the many shelves, so she climbed up one of them and followed Gulum-Ei from above, careful to duck out of sight when one of the warehouse guards neared. 

He went through a door, and then one of the warehouse guards noticed her.

“Hey!”

He was silenced with an arrow through the chest, and the second guard that came to his yell joined him.

She climbed down to the floor carefully so no one else would see her, and went through the door Gulum-Ei had gone through.

The floor quickly changed to dirt, and Elsebet had a feeling she was no longer inside the East Empire Trading Company and, in fact, in a cave. It was proven to be true when she emerged in a long winding cavern with a river twisting through it, with bandits standing on a jetty behind some shelves.

She swore internally and readied an arrow.

The two bandits were quickly disposed of, and she proceeded through the cave, pocketing everything of value she could get her hands on. A few more dead bandits, and she got to where Gulum-Ei was looking through chests and stock from ships that have come in, guarded by two bandits.

The one next to him was met with an arrow in the chest, and the Argonian jumped out of his skin, looking around for the assailant. The second one readied her weapon, eyes darting around, but she too fell with an arrow in the neck.

Elsebet nocked another arrow and pulled on the bowstring, aiming it at Gulum-Ei as she stepped out of the shadows.

He looked half scared to death.

“Now, there’s no need to do anything rash,” he said, staring at the arrow pointed at his face. “This isn’t as bad as it seems. I was going to tell Mercer about everything, honestly! Please… he’ll have me killed!”

She lowered her bow then and slackened the bow, but left the arrow resting on it. “Mercer doesn’t have to know.”

He sighed in relief. “I see you wish to be reasonable, perhaps I misjudged you. The name of the person you want is Karliah.”

She blinked at him. “You say that name like I should know it.”

He looked surprised. “Mercer didn’t tell you about her?”

“I’ve been in the Guild for a month, I don’t think they trust me all that much yet.”

He sighed. “Karliah is the thief responsible for murdering the previous Guildmaster, Gallus. Now she’s after Mercer.”

“And you’re helping her?”

“Help…?” His eyes widened, and he held up his hands in defence. “No, no! Look I didn’t even know it was her until after she contacted me. Please, you have to believe me!”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Where is she now?”

“I don’t know. When I asked her where she was going she just muttered ‘Where the end began.’” He fumbled in his pack and pulled something out, handing it to Elsebet. “Here, take the Goldenglow Estate Deed as proof. And when you speak to Mercer, tell him I’m worth more to him alive.”


	19. What's With the Tomb?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing. This is the longest chapter of this book, so you're in for a treat! I just kept writing, and found this to be a good ending of the chapter.

As soon as Elsebet entered the Cistern four days after talking with Gulum-Ei, she was ambushed by Garthar.

The last time she had been in the Cistern, she had successfully avoided him, but now was not the time for him to suddenly want to reconnect with her. She tried to pass him, but he blocked her path, staring down at her.

“Move,” she said, glaring up at him.

“You can’t avoid me forever, Elsebet.”

“You’ve been avoiding me for eight years. One more week isn’t going to make a difference. Now move, I need to talk to Mercer.”

She shoved him out of the way, and stormed over to where Mercer was working at his desk. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him not behind that desk.

He glanced up as she approached, but looked back down at his work. “Did Gulum-Ei give up any information on our buyer?”

“Goldenglow Estate was purchased by Karliah,” she said.

He head snapped up, and he stood up quickly, causing his chair to skitter backwards. “What?”

“Karliah bought Goldenglow.”

Something flashed over his face—was that _fear?_ —but it was gone so fast she didn’t know if she imagined it. “No, it… it can’t be.” He swore. “I haven’t heard that name in decades. This is grave news indeed, she’s someone I hoped never to cross paths with again.”

_I know that feeling_ , she thought, thinking about Garthar staring at her from across the Cistern. “Gulum-Ei said she killed the previous Guildmaster.”

“Karliah destroyed everything this Guild stood for. She murdered my predecessor in cold blood and betrayed the Guild. After we discovered what she’d done, we spent months trying to track her down, but she just vanished.”

“Why has she returned?”

“Karliah and I were like partners. I went with her on every heist. We watched each other’s backs. I know her techniques, her skills. If she kills me, there’ll be no one left who can possibly catch her.”

Elsebet shrugged. “I bet the Dragonborn could.”

He glared at her. “The Dragonborn isn’t part of the Guild, so, no, she couldn’t. If only we knew where Karliah was…”

“Gulum-Ei told me she said, ‘Where the end began.’”

“There’s only one place that could be. The place where she murdered Gallus… a ruin called Snow Veil Sanctum. We have to go out there before she disappears again.”

She blinked at him as he threw her a coinpurse and rounded the table. “We?”

“Yes, I’m going with you and together we’re going to kill her. That’s your payment for Solitude. We need to go now so that we have an advantage on her. Let’s go.”

He headed towards the ladder, leaving Elsebet to stare after him, before she pushed the coinpurse into her pack and ran after him.

He didn’t speak as he led the way through Riften, heading towards the gates leading out of the city. She hoped they weren’t walking, because her horse needed to have a couple days’ rest after all the travelling he had been doing. If she remembered correctly, Snow Veil Sanctum was half a day’s trek south of Winterhold. It was going to take over a day to get there.

They left the city and Mercer threw a coinpurse of gold at the carriage driver, instructing them to take them to Windhelm as fast as they could. They climbed aboard, and the carriage started moving.

It was about an hour to sunset when they set off from Windhelm, and the ride was in silence as they were carted through the Rift. But as the sun set, Elsebet looked over at Mercer and asked, “What was Karliah like?”

He stared at her for a second before answering. “She was a stubborn Dunmer… always had to do everything her way. But she was the best… bringing in more coin a month than some thieves heist in a year. Gallus trusted her too much and I let her get too close.”

“So, they had a relationship?”

“If you want to call it that, yes. Me? I think she was softening him for the kill. Gallus would call her his ‘little nightingale’. He was absolutely smitten with her.”

She was confused. “Why did she kill him?”

“Greed? Jealousy? Spite?” He shrugged. Who can say what drove her to such an iniquitous act. One thing’s certain. I intend to find out before she draws her last breath.”

She nodded, and they fell back into silence.

* * *

**** As early spring snow fell in the hold of Winterhold, Elsebet and Mercer were reaching Snow Veil Sanctum, the burrow blending in with its surroundings that without the help of Mercer, she would’ve walked right passed it.

They noticed a horse tied to a tree next to a makeshift campsite, and Mercer growled.

“She’s here. Let’s get moving, I want to catch her while she’s distracted. Take the lead.”

She looked over at him in surprise. “You want me to lead?”

He rolled his eyes and sneered. “I’m sorry, I was under the impression that I was in charge. You’re leading and I’m following. Does that seem clear to you?”

She nodded. “Understood.”

“Just make sure to keep your eyes open. Karliah is as sharp as a blade. The last thing I need is you blundering into a trap and warning her that we’re here.”

“This isn’t my first Nordic ruin, Mercer,” she said, but climbed up the side and down the spiral staircase leading to the entrance.

The only problem was that the door was locked.

Before she could pull out her lockpicks to pick it, Mercer came up next to her and spoke. “They say that some of these ancient Nordic burial mounds are sometimes impenetrable. This one doesn’t seem too difficult.” He squatted down in front of the lock and pulled out a lockpick, but it was one she hadn’t seen before. There was a large orb on the end of it, and the metal was a gold colour. She wondered where he got it. “Quite simple really, I don’t know what the fuss is about these locks. All it takes is a little bit of know-how, and a lot of skill.” The lock clicked and he stood up. “That should do it. After you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him as she entered the ruin, not quite sure what that was. She was a competent lockpick, and he hadn’t even given her the chance to try it. Maybe he just wanted to show off, but she wasn’t so sure. There had been something about him during the carriage ride—the story he gave her when she asked him how Gallus had died didn’t make sense, once she thought about it. Being shot in the chest would take ages to heal, and sure, it had been twenty-five years, but there was no way he was healed during the chaos that happened after Gallus’s death.

She decided to continue on, but to be cautious with him.

Mercer scrunched up his nose in disgust as he entered behind her. “The stench in here… this place reeks of death. Be on your guard.”

Elsebet led the way down a set of stairs and around a corner, immediately into a small chamber. There were two lit braziers on each side, with a pillar in the middle. She narrowed her eyes at the braziers suspiciously—there was no way they were still lit after all this time. Karliah must have lit them when she was passing, or the draugr did it. She did notice that all the ruins she went into were lit up with torches.

She passed through the chamber and into another one, where there was a dead draugr lying next to a chest, with two closed sarcophagi on either side of the room with a pull chain on the wall between them. Suspicious.

Gods, Mercer’s paranoia had rubbed off on her after one carriage ride.

She opened the chest, wanting whatever was inside of it, but when she did a tripwire was severed, and the two sarcophagi opened up, the lids landing heavily on the floor and their granger stepping out of them.

Quickly, she shot the one on the right with an arrow, and Mercer stabbed the other one.

Looting what was in the chest, she continued on into the next chamber at the bottom of a small set of stairs. The floor was littered with dead draugr.

“Pull the chain over there, and watch out for the spikes. Looks like Karliah reset all the traps,” Mercer muttered from behind her.

It wasn’t very hard to reset traps. There were always a lever or chain on the other side to reset it. It was apparent that Snow Veil Sanctum was no different.

She pulled the chain and stepped to the side, the gate now in front of her opening up while the spikes launched themselves at the spot the chain was, pottery urns flying across the room and smashing against the opposite wall. It swung back into place and they continued on.

The tunnel bent and went down stairs, and became one of those halls that were littered with draugr and skeletons. They passed through, killing all the draugr that woke up and started trying to kill them. Then they got to another chamber, with bone chimes hanging down from the ceiling and draugr standing in opened sarcophagi.

“Bone chimes… clever,” Mercer whispered, careful not to wake the draugr up. “Rigged to wake the draugr I’d bet. Don’t blunder into any of them.”

She nodded once, and lowered herself close to the floor. She passed under the bone chimes and reached up to pull the chain, but when her fingers touched the metal she heard a rattle, and the dragger waking up, and she looked over her shoulder to see Mercer cringing at himself, a bone chime bouncing off his shoulder.

“Fuck.”

Elsebet whipped her bow off her back and knocked an arrow, pulling back on the bowstring, aiming it at the closest draugr that was just beginning to unsheathe it’s sword. She let the arrow fly, and it thudded into its throat, sending it backwards.

She let another arrow fly as Mercer hacked away at another draugr, dual-wielding a dwarven sword that pulsed red and a dwarven dagger.

She heard something behind her, sensing that there was something swinging at her, and her Thu’um pushed itself out of her throat, wanting to save her from whatever it was. The Word echoed around the room, and went back on herself.

“ _FEIM!_ ”

She saw as an axe fell through her body, and she twisted around, knocking an arrow, and pointed the tip at the draugr’s head. As it pulled back she felt her Thu’um recede, and she let the arrow fly. It pierced its head, clean through and clattering off the wall behind it as it dropped to the ground.

Mercer stared at her, eyes wide, distracted from his enemy, and she shot an arrow at the draugr’s heart.

They stood like that for about a minute before Mercer took a step back.

“What the _fuck_ was _that?_ ” he asked, breathing hard.

She sighed and lowered her bow. “That was my Thu’um, or Shout,” she said. “I’m the Dragonborn.”

He looked at the floor. “Holy _shit_.”

“Are we going to continue, or are you going to need a minute?”

He shook his head and straightened his back. “I’m fine. Lead the way.”

And she did. She led him through the rest of Snow Veil Sanctum, Shouting whenever there were too many enemies, always startling Mercer for a second before he remembered.

He was quiet, as well, not making small comments like he had before. Elsebet was very uncomfortable, anxiety sitting in the pit of her stomach, but it got worse when she started hearing the chant of a Word Wall.

How would he react when he saw her absorbing energy from a wall? Would he straight up kill her? 

Only time would tell, and time was quickly approaching.

Sending an arrow at a draugr that could also Shout, she knocked it off a platform in the middle of the room, every sound drowned out by the chanting.

Mercer spoke, but she couldn’t hear him. She shook her head and shouted, “WHAT?” but he just looked at her, very confused.

She covered her ears as she rounded the platform, Mercer following her, and her eyes landed on the Word Wall that took up the entirety of the back.

Unlike the last wall she absorbed a Word from, she could read this one, like killing Alduin had allowed her to understand Dovahzul, the language of the dragons.

_This stone commemorates the bitter defeat of the Sisterhood of the White Rose, eaten to the last by the trolls of Korvag Crag._

The word _defeat_ was lit up brightly, and she was drawn towards the wall, until she reached out her hand and placed it above the Word, and light erupted from the Wall, surrounding her before sinking into her skin.

Inside her, the souls of the dragons she’d defeated swam around, reaching for the Word, wanting to be used, wanting a purpose. Dovmeyzfiik won, unlocking the first Word of the Disarm Shout.

She breathed heavily as the chanting stopped, and she took a step back, and the new Shout left her mouth.

“ _ZUN!_ ”

A blue light left her, hitting the now-empty Wall, and she only just stopped herself from stumbling backwards.

“What the fuck was that?”

She looked over at Mercer, a small grin on her face. “I now have a new Shout.”

He blinked at her, but muttered, “Okay,” and motioned for her to continue leading.

She led him through a gate and down a hall, turning into a Hall of Stories with a puzzle door at the end, meaning that the main chamber was on the other side, and that Karliah must have been there.

But when they got to the end, there was no claw in sight.

“Ah, its one of the infamous Nordic puzzle doors. How quaint. Without the matching claw, they’re normally impossible to open. And since I’m sure Karliah has done away with it, we’re on our own. Fortunately, these doors have a weakness if you know how to exploit it. Quite simple, really.”

And then he took out that weird lockpick again and played with the spot the claw went. After about a minute of playing around with it, the circles spun around to show bird, bird, and snake. “Karliah’s close,” he said. “I’m certain of it. Now let’s get moving.”

When the door lowered into the ground, she had the brief sensation that something wasn’t quite right.

And before she could do anything, an arrow thudded into her chest.

Everything hurt as Elsebet swayed on her feet, an arrow pointing out of her chest. She felt something coursing through her veins, foreign and unknown, and she fell to the ground, her bow skittering out of her hands.

It was hard to breathe, and she had to fight to keep her eyes open. It was then that she realised that she couldn’t move, and her eyes were stuck half-closed.

Through her eyelashes, she saw Mercer step over her body and walk towards the middle of the room, where a Dunmer woman was standing in Thieves Guild armour, her bow held in her hand tightly.

Mercer sneered. “Do you honestly think your arrow will reach me before my blade finds your heart?”

The Dunmer that must have been Karliah glared at him. “Give me a reason to try.”

“You’re a clever girl, Karliah. Buying Goldenglow Estate and funding Honningbrew Meadery was inspired.”

““To ensure an enemy’s defeat, you must first undermine his allies,”” she said. “It was the first lesson Gallus taught us.”

Mercer huffed. “You always were a quick study.”

She shook her head. “Not quick enough, otherwise Gallus would still be alive.”

That struck a cord in Mercer, apparently. “Gallus had his wealth and he had you. All he had to do was look the other way.”

Elsebet had no idea what was going on. Didn’t Karliah kill Gallus? Was Mercer lying? He had been acting differently ever since she said the name _Karliah_ , and his insistence for her to lead. Did he know this was happening?

Was she going to die?

“Did you forget your oath we took as Nightingales? Did you expect him to simply ignore your methods?”

Mercer unsheathed his weapons. “Enough of all this mindless banter! Come on, Karliah. It’s time for you and Gallus to be reunited!”

Karliah pulled a bottle out of her pack and downed it. A second later, she became invisible. “I’m no fool, Mercer. Crossing blades with you would be a death sentence. But I promise the next time we meet, it will be your undoing.”

Mercer sheathed his weapons, and turned to Elsebet, his mouth set in a hard line. He walked over to her and stood above her, and scoffed.

“The mighty Dragonborn taken down by an arrow. How pathetic.”

Her Thu’um scratched at her throat, but she couldn’t speak to use it. She still couldn’t move.

“But it appears that Gallus’ history has repeated itself. Karliah has provided me with the means to be rid of you, and this ancient tomb will be your final resting place. But do you know what intrigues me the most? The fact that this was all possible because of _you_.” He unsheathed his weapons. “Farewell. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about your being the Dragonborn. Let everyone think you’re still in hiding.”

And then he brought down his sword and stabbed her.

As everything went dark, there was only one thought on her mind.

_I don’t want to die_.


	20. Sneaking Through the Dwemer Museum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warnings for several people getting burned, but it doesn't go into detail.

Rune had been worried when Mercer came back to the Cistern without Elsebet, and the worry only increased when he went over to Brynjolf. He went over to them, meaning to ask what had happened and where was Elsebet?

But when he caught what the Guildmaster was saying, he stopped dead in his tracks.

“… killed Elsebet and got away. You know what that bitch is like.”

It felt like his heart had stopped, and he couldn’t breathe. Elsebet couldn’t be dead, it was Elsebet. He’d seen her in action. It may have only been against skeever, frostbite spiders, and an insane man, but it spoke of experience, and an underlining power she was hiding.

“I’m gonna have to tell her family,” Brynjolf said, and glanced over to where Garthar was eyeing them, but couldn’t hear them. “Garthar’s her father, he told me when you two left two days ago.”

“I can’t stay,” Mercer said. “Now that I have a lead on Karliah, I can’t let it slip out of my hands. She can’t escape again. She will pay for what she did to Gallus.”

Rune couldn’t stay. He went over to the ladder and climbed up it, his limbs moving automatically. When he got to the top, he reached for the chain to open the secret entrance, but didn’t have the strength to pull it.

Instead, he collapsed onto the stone floor, and cried

* * *

When Elsebet opened her eyes, all she saw was a roof. Blinking, she tried to remember what had happened, and looked to the side to see her mother sitting on a chair beside the bed she was lying on, her bright red hair pulled back tightly, her eyes flicking over the pages of a book, the title of which she couldn’t make out. Everything was blurry.

“Mama?” she asked, her voice raspy.

Jorasine’s head flew up at the sound of it, and tears sprang to her eyes and she closed the book and placed it on the bedside table.

“You’re awake,” she said.

She tried to push herself up into a sitting position, but pain laced through her chest and stomach, causing her to cry out in pain and fall back onto the bed.

“Don’t try to sit up,” Jorasine said, pushing a lock of Elsebet’s hair, identical to her own, out of her face. “From what the kind Dark Elf woman said, you have quite the injuries. An arrow in the chest and a sword to your heart.” She shook her head. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

“Dark Elf woman?” she asked, her voice so weak she could barely hear it.

Her mother nodded. “Yes. Karliah, I think her name was. She brought you here a week ago, almost dead. We’re lucky that Colette was up at the College, she’s the one that healed you.”

The door to the house opened, and Karliah walked in with Hjolma and her husband, Advard, his beard as magnificent as ever.

Her twin ran over to her and stood next to the bed. “Elsebet, you’re awake! I was so worried, we have no idea what happened! Karliah told us a little, you were shot and then stabbed and then she took you here, but we have no idea what else!”

She blinked up at her. “Nice to see you too, Hjolma.”

“And why didn’t you come to my wedding? I get that you had other things to do, but you could have sent a letter telling us where you were.”

Jorasine stood up and placed a hand on Hjolma’s shoulder. “I’m sure there was a reason she didn’t go. Give her some space and time, and she’ll tell you. But not now, she needs to rest.”

Elsebet shook her head, and pushed herself to a sitting position, pushing through the pain. “No, I need, I need to find Mercer.”

“We’ll find him,” Karliah said, lowering her hood, revealing loose brown hair and purple eyes. “I promise you we will, but you need to heal up.”

Elsebet glared at her. “I wouldn’t need to heal if you hadn’t’ve shot me.”

The three other people in the room stared at Karliah, and Jorasine rounded at her.

“You _shot my daughter?_ ”

“If I didn’t, she would be dead,” the Dunmer woman said to her, then looked at Elsebet. “I dipped the arrow in a special poison that slowed down your heart rate. If it wasn’t in your system, you would have bled out before I could reach you.”

“But you let Mercer go,” the Nord spat. “He stabbed me, _murdered_ Gallus, and you let him go!”

“Because I know that with you, I will finally get my revenge,” she said. “While you’ve been unconscious, I’ve spoken with Enthir, of the College. He’s going to meet with us tomorrow to access what we have. Because I wasn’t at Snow Veil Sanctum just for irony’s sake. I got Gallus’s journal, but it’s written in code. Enthir was one of his friends, and one of the only people he trusted.”

“I am so confused,” Advard muttered to Hjolma. She nodded in agreement.

“So lie back down and rest. You’ll need it, if we’re going to go again Mercer.”

Hesitantly, Elsebet nodded, and Jorasine helped her lay back down, and she sighed in relief as the pain stopped.

“I’m guessing you were a bit surprised when you woke up after being stabbed,” Karliah said, a small smile gracing her lips. Elsebet could tell why Gallus had been smitten with her.

She shrugged. “It’s not the first time it’s happened.”

Everyone stared at her.

“When was the first time?” Hjolma asked.

“Last Seed last year,” she said. “I was wiping out a vampire nest for Morthal when one of them stabbed me, after I shot her, and I woke up in Highmoon Hall. About an hour later I became Thane.”

Everyone had tried to get more information out of her, but she waved all the questions off and went back to sleep. The next time she woke, she was given food by Istah, who had wanted to know the story of how she got shot and then stabbed, so she recalled the whole of her going to the Thieves Guild (minus going to Cidhna Mine) all the way to Snow Veil Sanctum (leaving out their missing father). Then she had fallen asleep again, and woken up by Karliah.

“Enthir’s here,” the elf said, and motioned to where the High Elf Enthir was standing near the door, dressed in college robes.

“Do you have the journal?” he asked, walking over to them.

Karliah nodded, and dug through her pack before pulling out a leather-bound journal. “Here it is, but there’s a problem.”

He blinked. “A problem? Let me see it.”

She handed it over and he opened it, and he nodded as soon as he did and scoffed. “This is just like Gallus. A dear friend, but always too clever for his own good. He’s written all of the text in the Falmer language.”

“Can you translate it?” Elsebet asked, pushing herself into a sitting position.

He shook his head. “No. However, I know someone who might. The court wizard of Markarth, Calcelmo, may have the materials you need to get this journal translated. A word of warning. Calcelmo is a fierce guardian of his research. Getting this information won’t be easy.”

“Because when is anything easy?” she asked sarcastically.

He tucked the journal into his pack. “It’ll be in his research laboratory, which is connected to the Dwemer Museum he has. If you can get access to that, it’ll be easier to get into the laboratory. But his nephew has access to the place as well, and he’s always got guards around. You’ll either need to kill everyone, or sneak passed them.”

Elsebet nodded, until she realised that he had been looking straight at her. “Wait, why are you looking at me?”

“Calcelmo knows me,” Karliah answered. “He knows that I’m part of the Thieves Guild. If you go, he won’t know, so he’ll trust you more than he trusts you.”

“It’s probably for the better,” she said. “Calcelmo has already let me into the museum once, I’m sure he’ll let me in again.”

She then told them about the time she had killed a giant spider for him in the excavation site leading to Nchuand-Zel, the Dwemer City Markarth was built upon.

“So it’s settled,” Enthir said. “I’ll keep the journal for now. When you get back, meet me up at the College. If you can’t get in, your sister can come get me.”

Elsebet nodded, and continued healing.

* * *

It took two days for Elsebet to be able to walk properly with only mild pain after drinking a stamina potion, so after changing the dressings on her wounds and pulling on her Thieves Guild armour, which had been sown up by the city’s blacksmith, she was put on a horse and pointed towards Markarth, which took four days on its own.

So on the twenty-fifth of First Seed, she hobbled through the gates of Markarth for the first time in over two months.

She just hoped she didn’t run into Cosnach on the way up to Understone Keep.

She climbed up through the streets of Markarth and got to the palace the Jarl stayed in, and pushed open the doors with the help of the city guard. She quickly made her way to where Calcelmo worked, and the old elf smiled at her as she neared.

“Ah, Hjolma, it’s good to see you,” he said.

She was confused for a second before she remembered that she had used her sister’s name during her stay in Markarth. When she did, she smiled back at him. “It’s good to see you, too.”

“What’re you doing back here? Do you have some Dwemer artefacts I can buy?”

She shook her head. “Not this time, unfortunately. I was actually going to ask if I could have a look in your Dwemer Museum again. It was so interesting that I have to go back.”

In reality, when she had been through the museum the first time, she had to push back flashbacks to her time in Alftand, but she wasn’t going to tell the High Elf that. She needed him to let her into the museum so she could steal his research.

“Of course, of course!” he said, and he gave her a key. “Here you go, just in case the guard doesn’t believe that I’ve let you in. I hope you enjoy it!”

She smiled at him and bid him goodbye, and headed towards the museum on the other side of the keep.

She waved at the guard as she passed him, and he eyed her suspiciously as she passed, but let her be when she unlocked the door, just like Calcelmo had said he would. She closed the door behind her, and quickly made her way through the museum, snagging a valuable-looking gem in a gold casket that looked vaguely familiar.

When she got to the end of the museum, she nodded at one of the guards that was passing, and glued her eyes to one of the cases nearby while she waited for him to pass. When he did, she headed towards the door, and unlocked it with the key Calcelmo had given her.

She quietly closed the door behind her and crept up a set of stairs, making sure to keep low while also trying not to open her wounds. It had only been two weeks since she got stabbed and, despite healing quicker than normal people due to her dragon blood, she was still really sore, and every time she moved it sent a stab of pain through her torso.

Luckily, she had downed a stamina potion just before entering the keep, so that should keep her going.

She got to the first room, with thick grates on the opposite wall. She could vaguely hear someone talking, and when she neared the grates she heard, “You heard me, captain—our work must not be disturbed. Kill any intruders on sight. Call for backup if you need it. But let no one through.”

She swore internally and continued on, opening a door and closing it behind her. On the opposite side of the room, with a thick pillar of stone between them, there was a guard pacing. Elsebet crept up the pillar and waited for the guard to pass around the pillar before she made her way through the door. There was another pillar with a path leading to the left, with two guards talking.

“What do you think this is?” one asked.

The other shrugged. “Another trap, most likely. Things are dangerous… three guards died when the lower levels flooded with steam last week.”

And then they walked down the hall, leaving Elsebet the option to either follow them or go down the ramp to the lower levels, which were probably still filled with steam. Deciding that there was only one way to find out, she quietly made her way to the ramp and climbed down the spiral.

In front of her was a hall full of a green gas, a pressure plate in front of her, and three decomposing bodies through the hall. On the other side of the hall was a ramp up to the other side of the hall above her.

As she turned to go back up, she spotted a pressure plate a couple metres away, tucked away next to the pipes that jutted out of the walls. She nodded, deciding to continue on through the hall, and stepped on the pressure plate.

The gas dissipated almost immediately.

Careful to be quiet and not hurt herself, she ran to the second pressure plate, the gas filtering back into the hall before she stepped onto the pressure plate.

It continued like that through the hall, until she got to the other side. She then climbed up the ramp and found herself on the other side of the hall, the guards halfway back to the other side. With their backs turned, she snuck passed, pushing open a door and going up a ramp.

She found herself in another room, and found it easy to pass the two guards that were inside. When she closed the door, she descended a staircase and snuck passed an open door with several guards inside, and a High Elf in blue wizard’s robes. Probably Aicantar, Calcelmo’s nephew.

Peering through thick bars to see if there were anything she could use to distract the guards, and then she saw the wheel next to her, bright red, and used to set off traps.

As she grasped the sides of it, she hoped that it didn’t activate anything in the small area she was.

She turned the wheel until it couldn’t turn any more.

At first, nothing happened.

And then, like an explosion, it all happened at once.

Fire went everywhere, and swinging blades came up from underneath the floor, cutting everything that it touched. Screams were heard, and the searing heat made Elsebet duck into the corner, just in reach of the wheel.

Somehow, Aicantar managed to escape the chaos that was the next room, and ran up the stairs and through where Elsebet had just come from.

When the screams stopped, she turned the wheel back, and all the traps shut off.

She could smell the burning flesh and blood before she entered the room.

The bodies were everywhere, and she averted her eyes from them as she went through the room, looking for any documents that survived the fire, but none looked like the Falmer language. She did manage to find a valuable-looking Dwemer puzzle box, and she shoved it into her pack as she left the room through the door on the far side of the room, and out into the sun.

The fresh air was a welcoming change to the stuffy air inside, and it was then that she realised she had been in one of the keep’s towers. The path led to another part of the tower, and she pushed open the door to see an empty hall that had a balcony over it, with a stone slab on top of it. There were stairs to the left and right, the right one leading to a balcony that ran along the walls, but not to where she needed. So, she took the left staircase.

She found herself in a laboratory that fit someone with a mind like Calcelmo’s. There were Dwemer artefacts everywhere, and different Dwemer book filling shelves and laying haphazardly on the edges of tables. She passed all of this and made her way to the balcony with the stone slab on it.

She let out a cry of happiness when she saw the scratches of the Falmer on the face of it. The only problem was that the stone would be too heavy for her to carry when she was fully healed, let alone while she was hurt and in numb pain.

Her mind went to the loose parchments and charcoal sticks she had seen on the tables when she passed them. She went back into the laboratory and picked up several of them, and dumped them on the floor next to stone as she started getting to work, rubbing the charcoal over the parchment as she leant on the stone.

She ended up with about fifteen parchment papers, and she had just carefully put them in her pack when the door to the tower opened, and guards led by Aicantar entered. She ducked behind the stone, cursing her luck, and peeked around the stone as the High Elf spoke.

“Accidents like this just don’t happen. Someone is trying to sabotage my uncle’s research.”

_Actually, I’m just trying to steal it_ , Elsebet thought.

The man next to him spoke. “I… all right. If there is a thief, he won’t leave this tower alive. But shouldn’t we inform Master Calcelmo?”

“I’ll deal with my uncle. Just… go! Scour this place from top to bottom!”

And then the guards split up, and Elsebet ducked back behind the stone.

She couldn’t go back into the Laboratory because there was a guard entering it, and she couldn’t drop to the lower levels without alerting the others.

An idea formed in her mind, and she narrowed her eyes at the walkway that hugged the walls of the tower. If she could get onto it without anyone noticing, and dropping down next to the door, she would be home-free.

She nodded, and crawled over to the edge of the balcony. She swung her legs over the ledge and turned around, using her arms to lower herself down slowly, gritting through the pain that erupted in her side. Tears started prickling in her eyes at the immensity of it, and she let go of the ledge, landing not-so-gracefully on her feet. She looked around to see if anyone noticed her, but no one did, so she crawled up the stairs and along the walkway.

She stepped onto a Dwemer metal shelf next to where the walkway stopped, and stepped likely over it when she saw that Aicantar had sat down on a seat next to the door, guarding the entrance. There was no doubt that he was a powerful mage, and would probably be able to kill her in her weakened state.

When she got to the end, she realised that the drop was too high for her with her injury. So she wouldn’t be harmed, she would have to use her Become Ethereal Shout, which was very loud and would alert all of the guards. But if she dropped down without using it, she would harm herself and alert the guards, and she might not make it to the door.

Deciding to take the risk, she climbed down the side of the shelf and, bracing herself, let go of it.

She let out a cry as pain laced her entire body, and she felt something warm trickle beneath her armour. Aicantar let out a cry of rage as he stood up, readying a pair of spells in his hands as Elsebet realised that she had reopened her wounds.

As tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over her cheeks, she limped towards the door, adrenaline numbing the pain but only enough for it to bearable.

The mage followed her, along with the guards, and she stumbled down the path, just dodging a frost spell thrown at her. Another spell was thrown at her, but landed on the floor in front of her, covering the ground in ice. She slipped on it and landed on the floor heavily, another burst of pain stabbing at her pain, and she breathed in ragged breathes as she pushed herself to her feet, and another spell slammed into her stomach, ice-cold, and sent her over the side of the balcony.

Panicking, her heart beating heavily in her chest, she fell towards the ground. She landed in water as the pain became too much, and she fell unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... please don't kill me.


	21. An Exasperated God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing.

“Would you stop getting hurt for _one_ _second_?”

Elsebet opened her eyes to find herself on the top of the Throat of the World, flat on her back in the snow. Despite that, she wasn’t cold—in fact, she was rather warm, especially around her where her wounds were.

She pushed herself into a sitting position, knowing she was dreaming, and saw Akatosh leaning against the broken Word Wall, staring down at her, still wearing those weird clothes of his.

“What?” she asked him, confused.

“You keep getting hurt, and that’s a no-no,” the god said, shaking his head. He looked at the horizon. “You’re currently unconscious in a pool of water at the bottom of a waterfall in Markarth, because of the pain you put yourself in. Don’t worry,” he said when he saw the look on her face, “someone’s about to drag you out of it.”

“Why am I here?” she asked, standing up. She thought it weird that she didn’t feel any pain, then realised it was probably because she was in a dream.

He looked over at her, golden eyes bright as the sun. “You’re only at the start of your journey, and yet this is the fourth time you’ve almost died. I’m gonna need you to slow down a bit, there. Julianos told me about what you two talked about, as well. Tell me, have you filled that extractor yet?”

She blinked at him. “Why do you want me to fill it? I mean, it was given to me by a Daedric Prince, and you guys _want_ me to fill it.”

“You’re going to be around Hermaeus Mora one way or another. Better it be on your terms than his.” He shrugged. “Besides, he’s not going to get your soul when you die.” He snapped his fingers and pushed himself off the wall, turning to Elsebet. “Which reminds me, Karliah is going to try and get you to promise your soul to Nocturnal to get back in favour with her for the whole Mercer thing. I’ve struck up a deal with her, and you won’t be going there once you die. Actually, neither will Mercer, but that’s another conversation for another time.”

“Wait, what?”

“Nevermind. By the way, I’ve healed you up so you can defeat Mercer. But you’re about to wake up, so goodbye for now.”

“Wait, no—”

When she blinked, she was no longer on the top of the Throat of the World, but staring up into the face of a bearded Redguard man, and she coughed up water. She breathed air into her oxygen-deprived lungs, and she turned onto her side and continued dry-heaving.

“Are you okay?” the man asked. “I saw you take the dive down, and when you didn’t come out I saw you drowning.”

“I’m fine,” she muttered, her voice raspy, and she pushed herself onto her knees. “How long was I under there?”

“A couple minutes. You’re Hjolma, right? I’ve seen you around. I’m Endon.”

She shook her head. “That’s my sister. I’m Elsebet. Thank you, for saving me.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Endon said as she stood up. “I’ll see you around?”

“Nope,” she told him, looking through her pack to see if the rubbings were wet. Surprisingly, they weren’t. Nothing in her pack was. She sent a silent thank you to Akatosh, and closed her pack. “Bye.”

He watched as she left, heading towards the front gate. She pulled her hood low over her head when she noticed Cosnach hauling crates in the marketplace, and left the stone city.

It took four days to get back to Winterhold, and when she did, she went straight up to the College, dragging Karliah with her when she saw the Dunmer leaving the Frozen Hearth.

Enthir was in his chambers, counting out coin. He looked up when they entered, and instructed them to close the door behind them. They did, and he approached Elsebet.

“Do you have the translations?” he asked her.

She nodded, and pulled the rubbings out of her pack and giving them to the Bosmer.

He took them. “Rubbings, eh? I was expecting notes.”

“It’s quite the story.”

“I’m sure it is,” he said, nodding. “Give me about an hour to translate them. You can stay here if you’re quite, or you can leave and do whatever. I’ll come and get you when I’m done.”

The two opted to leave. As they were walking down the crumbling bridge connecting the College to Winterhold, Karliah said, “You’re looking a lot better.”

Elsebet’s hand went to her side. She had looked at it her first night on the road, and while it had healed properly, there were now two large scars—one in the middle of her chest, and one below her left ribcage. “Someone healed me while I was there.”

“Must be a great healer,” she said.

Elsebet nodded, and lowered her hand.

When she got home, her mother and sister fussed over her, but she kept telling them that she was fine, her wounds were healed.

About an hour and a half later, Enthir got them, and ferried them to the basement of the Frozen Hearth with the translation. Elsebet wondered why they were in the basement, but decided to not say anything and let Enthir speak.

“The journal is intriguing, but highly disturbing,” the Wood Elf said. “It appears that Gallus had suspicions about Mercer Frey’s allegiance to the Guild for months. Gallus had begun to uncover what he calls “… an unduly lavish lifestyle replete with spending vast amounts of gold on personal pleasures.””

“Does it say where the gold comes from?” Karliah asked.

Enthir nodded, flicking over a page. “Yes. Gallus seems certain that Mercer had been removing funds from the Guild’s treasury without anyone’s knowledge.”

“Anything else, Enthir? Anything about… the Nightingales?”

“Hmm…” he hummed as he flicked through pages. “Yes, here it is. The last few pages seem to describe “the failure of the Nightingales” although it doesn’t go into personal detail. Gallus also repeatedly mentions his strong belief that Mercer desecrated something known as the Twilight Sepulcher.”

“Shadows preserve us,” Karliah muttered. “So it’s true…”

Enthir looked up from the pages of the book and at the Dunmer. “I’m not familiar with the Twilight Sepulcher. What is it? What’s Mercer Frey done?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Enthir, I can’t say. All that matters is we deliver your translation to the Guild immediately. Farewell, Enthir… words can’t express…”

“It’s alright, Karliah. You don’t have to say a word.” He turned to Elsebet. “Listen, all I want is the truth to be revealed to the Guild. They respected Karliah, and she deserves better. Do whatever you can and I’d consider it a personal favour.”

The Nord nodded. “Thank you, Enthir.”

“If trying to rid yourself of stolen goods becomes a burden, and you find yourself in Winterhold, visit me at the College. I’ve been known to handle items of questionable interest from time to time and I’ll see what I can do.” He addressed both of them. “If you have further need of me, you can find me in the College.”

He then left the basement of the Frozen Hearth, leaving Elsebet and Karliah alone.

“We must hasten to Riften before Mercer can do anymore damage to the Guild,” the Dunmer said, turning to the door.

Elsebet put a hand on her arm, keeping her in place. “Gallus’s journal mentioned the “Twilight Sepulcher.” What is it?”

She sighed and turned to the Nord. “You’ve come this far, so I see no harm in concealing it any longer. The Twilight Sepulcher is the temple to Nocturnal. It’s what the Nightingales are sworn to protect with their lives.”

“Why does it require that kind of protection?”

“Everything that represents Nocturnal’s influence is contained within the walls of the Sepulcher. Now it seems Mercer’s broken his oath with Nocturnal and defiled the very thing he swore to protect.”

Elsebet shook her head. “Thieves and temples. It just doesn’t add up.”

A small smile appeared on Karliah’s face. “I felt the same way when Gallus revealed these things to me. I think given time, you’ll understand what I mean.”

“I’d understand better if less mystery was involved.”

“As a Nightingale, I’ve been sworn to secrecy regarding the Sepulcher. I know the Guild doesn’t do much to foster faith, but I’m going to have to ask that you continue to trust me.”

She nodded. “Very well. We do it your way, for now.”

“Let’s head to Riften. We won’t be able to take the secret entrance as I doubt anyone will let us in that way. We’ll have to go through the Ragged Flagon.” She reached to her side and unhooked the sword that hung there, and handed it over to Elsebet. “I wanted you to have this. It belonged to Gallus, but giving the circumstances I think he’d approve.”

Elsebet thanked her, and the two of them left the Frozen Hearth Inn.

* * *

Riften wasn’t particularly cold, but Elsebet still wrapped her red cloak around her body. Gallus’s Nightingale sword bounced against her hip, replacing Dragonbane that she’d had for months, but was still hanging on her other hip in case a dragon came to attack them.

It seemed strange, walking through the streets with Karliah next to her, having not been there in almost a month. 

It was a wonder how fast time went when you were unconscious for a week.

They made their way to the canals that spanned the city and entered the Ratway. It had been months since Elsebet had been in them, and the drawbridge was up again. She sighed, telling Karliah to stay where she was, and dropped onto the floor. She went to the wall and climbed up the side of the platform, then pulled the lever letting the drawbridge down.

Together, the two of them entered the Ragged Flagon.

Eyes were on them as they walked through, Elsebet’s hood low over her head. She didn’t want to show that she was still alive yet, because there was no doubt that Mercer had told them that she was dead. She wanted to be the deciding card that made the Guild believe them.

They entered the Cistern, and saw that Brynjolf, Vex, and Delvin were waiting for them, and drew their weapons when they saw her.

“You’ve got to be bloody brave to come here after all you’ve done, Karliah,” Brynjolf said, glaring at the Dunmer.

“Please, lower your weapons so we can speak,” Karliah said. “I have proof that you’ve all been misled!”

“No tricks, Karliah or I’ll cut you down where you stand,” Brynjolf said, and sheathed his dagger. Begrudgingly, the thieves flanking him did as well. “Now what’s this so-called proof?”

She held up the translation of Gallus’s journal as she walked towards them. “I have Gallus’s journal. I think you’ll find it’s contents disturbing.”

Brynjolf held his hand out. “Let me see.” Karliah gave him the journal, and he flicked through it. “No, it… it can’t be. This can’t be true. I’ve known Mercer too long.”

“It’s true, Brynjolf. Every word. Mercer’s been stealing from the Guild for years, right under your noses.”

He closed the book angrily. “How do I know this hasn’t been forged? How do I know these are actually Gallus’s words?”

Karliah nodded. “We thought you would say that. It’s why my friend here has decided to hide her face. Mercer told you that I killed Elsebet, didn’t he?”

“Aye. But what does that have to do with the lass?”

“It may be true that she shot me,” Elsebet said, lowering her hood. “But Mercer stabbed me and left me for dead in those ruins. I want him dead.”

Brynjolf’s mouth fell open, eyes widening, and on the other side of the Cistern Garthar let out a cry of joy. There was an audible click as Brynjolf closed his mouth, and he blinked in confusion before a small grin spread across his face.

“You really don’t like to die, do you, lass?”

“I like to avoid it, yes.”

“So Mercer lied about her dying,” Vex said. “Maybe he thought he was putting her out of her misery. It doesn’t mean he stole from the Guild.”

“Then there’s only one way to find out if what the lass says is true,” the buff Nord said. “Delvin, I’ll need you to open the vault.”

Delvin blinked at him as he turned on his heel and walked towards the vault. “Wait just a blessed moment, Bryn. What’s in that book? What does it say?” 

“It says Mercer’s been stealing from our vault for years. Gallus was looking into it before he was murdered.”

They all stopped in front of the vault doors, made of solid iron, and Delvin shook his head. “How can Mercer open up a vault that needs two keys? It’s impossible. Could he pick his way in?”

Vex scoffed. “That door has the best puzzle locks money can buy. There’s no way it can be picked open.”

“He didn’t need to pick the lock,” Karliah muttered.

Delvin looked over his shoulder at her. “What’s she on about?”

“Use your key on the vault, Delvin,” Brynjolf said. “We’ll open it up and find out the truth.”

Sighing, Delvin pulled a key out of one of his many pockets and walked over to the door. He placed it in one of the keyholes and turned it, trying the door, but it wouldn’t open.

He turned back to Brynjolf. “I’ve used my key, but the vault’s still locked up tighter than a drum. Now use yours.”

Brynjolf did, unlocking the second side, and pushing the doors open. “By the Eight! It’s gone, everything’s gone! Get in here, all of you!”

They did, and Elsebet noticed the severe lack of gold and jewels. Apparently, so did everyone else.

“The gold, the jewels…” Delvin said, heartbreak in his voice, “it’s all gone.”

Vex unsheathed her dagger and looked like she was going to kill everyone in the room. “That son-of-a-bitch! I’ll kill him!”

“Vex!” Brynjolf shouted. “Put it away… right now. We can’t afford to lose our heads… we need to calm down and focus.”

“Do what he says, Vex,” Delvin said. “This isn’t helpin’ right now.”

She angrily sheathed her dagger, still looking like she was going to kill everyone in the room. “Fine. We do it your way. _For now._ ”

“Delvin, Vex… watch the Flagon. If you see Mercer, come tell me right away.”

Huffing, the two thieves left the vault, leaving only Brynjolf, Karliah, and Elsebet in the vault.

Brynjolf took a step towards Elsebet. “Look, before I help you track down Mercer I need to know what you learned from Karliah. I mean _everything_.”

She glanced over at Karliah, who nodded minutely, and told him. “Mercer killed Gallus, not Karliah.”

He nodded. “Aye. I feared that was the case. From that last entry in Gallus’s diary, it looks like he was getting close to exposing Mercer to the Guild. Anything else?”

“Karliah was behind Goldenglow and Honningbrew.”

“Trying to make Mercer look bad in front of Mercer, eh?” He looked over at Karliah, who nodded. “Clever lass. Was there anything else?”

At first, she hesitated to tell him. She had been surprised when Karliah had told her on their journey south as to what Nightingales actually _were_ , and she remembered a story Garthar had told her as a child, as she was the one that latched the most onto what he had taught the four of them about larceny.

“Gallus, Karliah, and Mercer were Nightingales.”

Brynjolf blinked at her in surprise. “What? Nightingales? But, I always assumed they were just a tale… a way to keep the young footpads in line. Was there anything else she told you?”

She shook her head. “No, that was it.”

“Then I have an important task for you,” he said. “I need you to break into Mercer’s home and search for anything that could tell us where he’s gone.”

It was her turn to be surprised. “He has a house in Riften?”

He nodded. “Aye. A gift from the Black-Briars after they kicked the previous family out… place called Riftwield Manor. He never stays there, just pays for the upkeep on it. Hired some lout by the name of Vald to guard the place.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Be careful, lass. This is the last place in Skyrim I’d ever want to send you. Just find a way in, get the information, and leave. And you have permission to kill anyone that stands in your way.”

A cruel grin started to spread on Elsebet’s face, but she pushed it away. It was no time to get drunk on bloodlust. “What’s the best way in?”

He scoffed. “Good question. I’ve only set foot inside a few times myself and that was in Mercer’s company. If you can get passed his trained watchdog, I think your best bet might be the ramp to the second floor balcony in his backyard.”

She sighed. “I don’t suppose the ramp is easy to access?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s some sort of crazy contraption Mercer commissioned for quick escapes. I’d wager a well-placed shot at the ramp’s mechanism would lower it in a hurry, but I don’t think that’ll be a problem for you.”

She nodded, and she left the vault, heading towards the ladder leading to the secret entrance. On the way, she spotted her father and Rune, both watching her with relieved and disbelieving looks on their faces, and she made a promise to herself to talk to them both before she went off to kill Mercer.

But right now, there was something more important to do.


	22. Nice Sword, Mind if I Take It?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing.

When Elsebet left the secret entrance, night had fallen, and she wrapped her cloak around her more as the chill in the air nipped at the exposed flesh on her face, neck, and hands. She walked out of the graveyard and made her way down the strip of road that connected to peoples’ backyards, looking for one that had a ramp mechanism on its balcony and a man guarding the backyard.

She was two houses down from the graveyard when she saw a Nord man standing next to one of the gates, locked from what rattling the gate got her. The Nord, probably Vald, turned to face her, a scar going down the middle of his face.

“This is Mercer Frey’s place and he don’t like visitors. Now go away.”

“Mercer needs you in Markarth right away!” Elsebet said, not really up for a fight despite being bloodthirsty five minutes earlier.

Vald blinked at her. “But I can’t leave here! I’m supposed to watch his house. What do I do?”

“I’ll watch it for you.”

“Wow, sure is nice of ya’.” He pulled out a key from his pack and unlocked the gate. When he was through he gave her the key. “Here, hang on to the key and don’t let anyone in!”

And then he started running towards the gates leading out of the city.

Dumbfounded, Elsebet held up the key. “Well, that was easy.”

She closed the gate behind her and locked it. Despite the missing watchdog and the lowered ramp, she didn’t want Mercer to know there was someone there in case he came back. Of course, he could be in there right now, but she doubted it considering Vald had believed that Mercer was in Markarth.

She pulled her bow off her back and nocked an arrow, aiming it at the mechanism just below the balcony. She let the arrow fly, and it hit the mechanism. It started to turn, and the ramp thudded onto a walkway that connected to the Temple of Mara next door. With a smirk on her face, she climbed up the walkway and ramp, unlocking the door into the house.

She fell immediately into a crouch as she closed the door behind her, careful not to make any noise as she heard someone talking in the next room over. She crawled to the door of the room she was in, which looked like a storage room, and peeked her head through to see a man in furs leaning against the bannister of the stairs leading to the ground floor. She quickly shot him in the chest, and he tumbled backwards and fell onto the stairs, alerting the people on the floor below them.

Someone let out a shout and started climbing the stairs, but he was downed with an arrow in the head. He jerked backwards and into the wall.

She could hear footsteps underneath her, but they didn’t seem to be heading to the stairs, so Elsebet went to the room on her left and started going through it.

The room, which was probably the master bedroom, was sparse except for a few pieces of furniture. She couldn’t find anything in there that could be anything even resembling plans.

The entire first floor was a dud, and she climbed down and stairs and over the bodies. She saw someone climbing up from the basement, so she shot him with an arrow and he tumbled down the stairs. She started searching the ground floor.

In Mercer’s study she found a letter. It stated that there were traps somewhere, but she didn’t know where any traps would be if they were in the house.

That was when she noticed the cupboard on the other side of the room, next to the door leading to the backyard that was bolted shut. She narrowed her eyes at it as she realised that it looked a lot like the one in the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood in the fact that it looked like it was bolted to the wall.

She made her way over to it, putting her bow on her back, and opened the doors. At the bottom was a pair of shoes, but besides that it was empty. She ran her fingers down the corners of the cupboard before one of her fingers ran over a button. She pressed it, and the back of the cupboard slid into the wall, revealing a secret passage.

She grinned in triumph as she entered the passage, turning and going down the set of stairs that was behind it.

In front of her was a grate and a chest behind it, just within arms reach through the bars. But with the pressure plate in front of the grate, she realised that it was a trap. She scoffed and turned down the next passage.

She wound up in a small room with a bunch of ancient Nordic pressure plates on the floor, with the rest of the passage on the other side of it. 

She grumbled, tired of traps despite this being the second one, and studied the difference in the plates to determine which ones would do nothing and which ones would send up flames and burn her to death. Now she just had to remember which ones were the ones that did nothing.

She saw a twisting path in it made of ones that had a lighter shade of grey in the middle, and she nodded as she stepped on the first one and nothing happened. She carefully stepped on each plate, careful not to touch one of the ones that would burn her, and got to the other side. She went down the passage that went back on itself, looting the chest she had seen earlier because there was no trap on that side of the grate, and turned another corner.

Only for blades to start swinging across the hall.

She swore loudly and surveyed her options.

She could run through blindly, but that would get her chopped up. She could carefully go through it, but that could also get her chopped up. She could Whirlwind Sprint through the hall, but there was a possibility that it would get her chopped up. She could use Become Ethereal, and the blades go straight through her.

She decided the last option.

“ _FEIM!_ ”

She looked down at her arms and saw that she was a light blue and transparent. She then ran through the swinging blades, the Shout wearing off as she descended a set of stairs.

At the bottom of the staircase was a door with a trigger wire at the bottom, rigged to break when she opened the door. She looked around the door to see what the trap was, and she saw three things jutting out above the door pointed at the bottom of the staircase that would no doubt spew fire when the trap was triggered.

So, she pushed herself onto the door, turned the handle, and pushed it open.

She stumbled inside as fire spewed out onto the stone stairs, and she shielded her face as she felt the heat of it on her. When the fire stopped, she lowered her arms and looked around the small room.

There was a desk pushed against the middle of the room with a bust of the Grey Fox on top of it, as well as a bowl full of gems, a pile of septims, and what looked like plans. In the corner to the left of it was a bookshelf full of books, with two chests next to it. On the desk’s right was a display case. Curious, she approached it, and saw a glass sword inside, but it wasn’t the typical glass sword you got. Instead of green, it was a cool blue, and even inside a locked case she could feel how cold it was.

She decided she needed it.

It took a while to pick the lock, but once she did, she picked up the blade and its sheath beneath it, runes carved into the blade marking it as Chillrend. She let out a low whistle, and slid it into its sheath. Screw Dragonrend, the Nightingale blade and Chillrend were a lot cooler (no pun intended) than the electric sword she had gotten half a year earlier. When she got back to the Thieves Guild, she’d swap them out.

She looted everything in the room, making sure to take the plans, and went down a tunnel on the other side of the room. She went down a staircase that lead to a hole in the ground, and poking her head through it made her realise that she was back in the Warrens.

The last time she had been in the Warrens, Lydia had died.

She shook that thought out of her mind and dropped down onto the floor, and made her way to the door that would lead her to the Ragged Flagon. She went to the Cistern, Chillrend still in her hand, and stopped in front of where Brynjolf was looking through the documents on Mercer’s desk. 

He looked up when she approached. “We’ve scoured the town and I’ve spoken to every contact we have left. No sign of Mercer. Any luck on your end?”

“He wasn’t there, but I found these plans,” she said, and handed over the pieces of parchment.

Brynjolf looked through them before his eyes widened. “Shor’s beard! He’s going after the Eyes of the Falmer? That was Gallus’s pet project. If he gets his hands on them, you can be certain he’ll be gone for good and set up for life.”

She nodded. “Then we have to stop him.”

“Agreed. He’s taken everything the Guild has left, and to go after one of the last greatest heists is just an insult. I’ve spoken with Karliah, and made amends for how the Guild’s treated her. Now she wishes to speak with both of us. Quickly, now. There’s no time to lose.”

She followed him to the middle of the Cistern, where Karliah was waiting patiently. When they got there, the Dunmer looked over at Brynjolf.

“Brynjolf, the time has come to decide Mercer’s fate. Until a new Guild Master is chosen, the decision falls to you.”

He nodded at her. “Aye, lass… and I’ve come to a decision. Mercer Frey tried to kill both of you, he betrayed the Guild, murdered Gallus, and made us question our future. He needs to die.”

“We have to be very careful, Brynjolf,” she said. “Mercer is a Nightingale, an agent of Nocturnal.”

“Then it’s all true… everything I heard in the stories. The Nightingales, their allegiance to Nocturnal and the Twilight Sepulcher.”

“Yes,” she said, nodding. “That’s why we need to prepare ourselves and meet Mercer on equal footing. Just outside of Riften, beyond the Southeast Gate is a small path cut up the mountainside. At the end of the path is a clearing and an old standing stone. I’d ask you both to meet me there in an hour.”

Narrowing her eyes, Elsebet remembered the words Akatosh had said, about the elf using her to get back in Nocturnal’s favour. She didn’t realise she was going to drag Brynjolf with her. She just hoped that whatever Akatosh was planning to do involved Brynjolf.

They separated, and Elsebet wanted some alone time. She knew she still had to talk to Rune and Garthar, but she had an hour before she had to go, and she needed to be alone and go through what Akatosh had told her now that she knew what he actually meant.

When she left the secret entrance, she left the graveyard and headed towards Mistveil Keep, wanting to be somewhere high, screw what the guards said.

It was night, the streets mostly empty except for those that worked during the night—thieves, prostitutes, and those that drunk until morning—and that gave her a gap to go up to the keep and climb up the side of it. It only took her a couple minutes to get to the top, and then she sat on the edge overlooking the city.

She delved into her thoughts, which was a dangerous thing to do.

Karliah was definitely using her and Brynjolf for her own means. The fact that Elsebet knew this put a kink in her plans, because she wasn’t giving Nocturnal two more souls in exchange to come back, she was only giving one. And from what Akatosh had told her, Nocturnal was going to lose Mercer’s soul, whatever that meant.

She ground her teeth together, wondering whether or not she should go to the standing stone. She really didn’t want to, but she really wanted Mercer dead, and this was the only way for her to see him dead, as Brynjolf hadn’t given her the plans back, and she had no idea where the Eyes were located.

“You seem glum.”

Elsebet looked over her shoulder, hand on the Nightingale Blade’s handle, not expecting anyone to be up there as well. When she saw who it was, she sighed and looked back over at the city, and the lights from torches going out in various windows.

“What do you want?”

Garthar took a seat next to her, once frightened of heights, now not fazed by them because of all the times he’d had to retrieve her from heights during her childhood. “Can’t I just talk with my daughter?”

“You could,” she said, “but it doesn’t mean I’ll listen.”

“Elsebet—"

“You abandoned us when we needed you most,” she said, looking him dead in the eyes. “Why would a father that cared about his children do that?”

Distraught covered his face as he looked at her. “I didn’t want to. I was scared.”

“So were we. We had lost a brother, and then we lost our father because you decided to run.”

“I’m sorry. I regretted it as soon as I left.”

“Then why didn’t you come back?”

There was silence between them for a couple minutes, none of them knowing what to say.

Elsebet looked back over the city, wiping away tears. “We needed you— _I_ needed you. Especially in the last six months.”

A crease appeared on Garthar’s brow. “What do you mean? What’s happened?”

“What _happened_ is I left Winterhold on my nineteenth birthday and three days later I was at Helgen.”

He blinked at her. “You were at _Helgen?_ ”

“It’s more than that,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes. “A week after my birthday I found out I was the Dragonborn.” She looked back at him through teary eyes as he stared at her with wide eyes and an open mouth. “You have no idea what I’ve been through. _No idea_. I watched friends die, I’ve _killed_ people. I’ve been to _Sovngarde_ and a _god_ told me I was like his daughter. I’ve had nightmares since Helgen, and they haven’t stopped. I’ve been _scared_ for _months_ about if I’m going to die or if I’m going to go crazy and _I can’t take it anymore_.”

She took in a shaky breath, her body shaking with sobs. This was the first time she’d told anyone she was scared. Because why would she be? She’d taken down dragons, taken down _Alduin_ , and she’s scared. But heroes don’t get scared, they don’t get _scarred_. They deal with it and continue on with life.

But despite the years he hadn’t been there, Garthar was still her father, and she had wanted to vent for ages. Because she wasn’t holding it together. It was a facade she had learned to put up, in the months before Cidhna Mine. And she had become good at the image.

But she wasn’t brave, she wasn’t holding it all together.

She was falling apart.

An arm snaked around her shoulders, and Garthar pulled her towards him, resting his head on hers.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said. “I don’t care that you’re the Dragonborn. You’re my daughter, and that’s what I care about. And I don't want to see my daughter cry.”

She buried her head into his shoulder. His words, while they probably weren’t the best in the ways of comfort, had soothed her. Most people that knew she was the Dragonborn only cared about what she had done about Alduin, or what she could do for them.

It was a nice change to know someone cared about _her_ , and not the gift Akatosh had given her.

And the two of them sat there, until Elsebet needed to go meet Brynjolf and Karliah.


	23. Another Daedric Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing.

When Elsebet got to the standing stone, Karliah and Brynjolf were already there, talking low about something. When she neared, Karliah looked over at her and smiled.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“What’s the significance of this place?” she asked, wiping at her eyes and hoping they weren’t red and puffy.

“This is the headquarters of the Nightingales,” the Dunmer said, “cut into the mountainside by the first of our kind. We’ve come to seek the edge we need to defeat Mercer Frey.”

“What kind of an edge?” Elsebet asked, pretending not to know that a god had already told her.

She walked over to the stone side of a small cliff, where she pressed a button that camouflaged with the stone, a section of the wall sliding down and revealing a wooden door.

They went through the door, and started going down a passage deeper into the mountain.

“So, this is Nightingale Hall,” Brynjolf said, whistling low. “I heard about this place when I joined the Guild, but I never believed it existed.”

“The assumption that the Nightingales were just a myth was seeded within the Guild on purpose,” Karliah said, leading the way. “It helped avert our attention from our true nature. What’s wrong, Brynjolf? I can almost hear your brow furrowing.”

Elsebet looked over and saw that Brynjolf’s brow was, indeed, furrowing. She scoffed.

“I’m trying to understand why I’m here, lass,” he saw, the furrow deepening. “I’m no priest, and I’m certainly not religious. Why pick me?”

“This isn’t about religion, Brynjolf… this is business,” she said, as they entered a cavern. “This is Nightingale Hall. You’re the first of the uninitiated to set foot inside in over a century. Now, if you’ll both follow me to the armoury to don your Nightingale Armour, we can begin the Oath.”

Elsebet didn’t miss that she didn’t actually answer his question, but nevertheless, followed the Dark Elf through the hall to the armoury, where there were several armours on stands, both male and female, of all different sizes. After a bit of trial and error, the three of them found ones that fit, and pulled on the armour.

It was a lot different from anything she’d worn before. It was a dark grey, with patterns on it that looked really cool, and a symbol on the chest of a bird with spread wings, probably the Nightingale symbol. The boots went up to her knees and blended in seamlessly with the pants. The shirt and pants were connected with a skirt that went down to her mid-thigh. The gloves were fingerless, going up to her elbows, and the hood came with a face mask that only showed the eyes, covering every other bit of her face. And pooling over her shoulders was a cape, trailing off at knee-height.

When looking at Karliah, she could only see her purple eyes through the mask, and she looked a lot more comfortable in it than Elsebet and Brynjolf did.

“Okay, lass,” Brynjolf said as Karliah led them down another hall. “We’ve got these getups on… now what?”

They stopped in front of a gate, and Karliah nodded at it. “Beyond this gate is the first step in becoming a Nightingale.”

“Woah there, lass,” he said, holding up his hands. It was really weird only being able to see his bright green eyes. “I appreciate the armour, but becoming a Nightingale? That was never discussed.”

“To hold any hope of defeating Mercer, we need to have Nocturnal at our backs. If she’s to accept you as one of her own, an arrangement must be struck.”

“I bet the Dragonborn could defeat Mercer,” Elsebet said, shrugging. “She’s very powerful.”

“I’m not involving an outsider in our business,” the Dunmer said.

“I’m not much of an outsider,” she said before she could stop herself. “You’ve involved me quite a bit.”

The two of them stared at her, Brynjolf’s eyes so wide she could no longer see the skin around them.

“ _You’re_ the Dragonborn?” Karliah asked slowly.

“Aye,” she said, and crossed her arms. “And don’t worry about your _plan_. Akatosh has already made a deal with Nocturnal.”

“How did you—”

“And don’t think you can try and negotiate Brynjolf’s soul to get back in favour with Nocturnal, either,” she interrupted the Dunmer. “It’s his decision as to whether he becomes a Nightingale or not. Tell him what it entails, and don’t spare any details.”

Karliah looked from Elsebet to Brynjolf and back, Brynjolf still catatonic at learning that Elsebet was the Dragonborn.

She poked him on the shoulder, and he shook his head, getting out of the daze. “Yes, the terms. What are they?”

“Nocturnal will allow you to become a Nightingale and use your abilities for whatever you wish. And in return, both in life and in death, you must serve as a guardian of the Twilight Sepulcher.”

“There’s always a catch,” Brynjolf muttered. He straightened his back and raised his voice. “But at this point, I suppose there isn’t much to lose. If it means the end of Mercer Frey, you can count me in.”

Karliah nodded, and beneath her mask, Elsebet scowled. She needed to talk to Akatosh and make sure that wanting revenge didn’t damn Brynjolf’s soul.

She might have been known as Dragonslayer, but she was once Kind-Heart, and that doesn’t change.

Karliah pulled a chain, lowering the gate, and led the way into the next room. There was a platform in the middle, hovering above a stream of water, with three stone patch branching off and ending with their own platforms.

“Brynjolf, stand on the eastern circle,” Karliah instructed. “And, Dragonborn, stand on the western. I’ll stand on the north.”

They followed her instructions, and Elsebet stood on the platform, not sure if she wanted to be there, considering she wasn’t going to become a Nightingale even if she did accept the oath. Akatosh would make sure of that.

Karliah raised her arms and spoke in a loud voice that echoed through the cavern. “I call upon you Lady Nocturnal, Queen of Murk and Empress of Shadows… hear my voice!”

A ball of energy appeared above the centre platform, purple and forever moving, going back in on itself and around. Elsebet knew immediately that this was Nocturnal.

_Ah, Karliah. I was wondering when I’d hear from you again. Lose something did we?_

The Dunmer kneeled on her spot. “My Lady, I’ve come before you to throw myself upon your mercy and to accept responsibility for my failure.”

_You’re already mine, Karliah. Your terms were struck long ago. What could you possibly offer me now?_

She raised her arms again, still kneeling, and motioned to Brynjolf and Elsebet. “I have two others that wish to transact the oath; to serve you in both life and in death.”

_You surprise me, Karliah. This offer is definitely weighted in my favour._

“My appetite for Mercer’s demise exceeds my craving for wealth, Your Grace.”

_Revenge? How interesting… Very well, the conditions are acceptable. You may proceed_.

“Lady Nocturnal, we accept your terms. We dedicate ourselves to you as both your avengers and your sentinels. We will honour our agreement in this life and the next until your conditions have been met.”

_Very well. I name your initials Nightingale, and I restore your status to the same, Karliah. And in the future, I’d suggest you refrain from disappointing me again._

The ball of energy dissipated, and Elsebet felt power enter her veins that she didn’t expect. Did she actually become a Nightingale? The power she felt, it was familiar to what she felt when she absorbed a dragon’s soul, only not as potent.

She could tell why Julianos had said she would become more powerful.

The three of them met in the centre platform, beneath where Nocturnal had appeared.

“Now that you’ve transacted the Oath, it’s time to reveal the final piece of the puzzle to you; Mercer’s true crime,” Karliah told them.

Elsebet raised an eyebrow. “He’s done more?”

“Mercer was able to unlock the Guild’s vault without two keys because of what he stole from the Twilight Sepulcher… the Skeleton Key. By doing this, he’s compromised our ties to Nocturnal and in essence, caused our luck to dry out.”

“So the Key unlocks any door?” she asked.

“Well, yes,” Karliah said. “But the Key isn’t only restricted to physical barriers. All of us possess untapped abilities; the potential to wield great power, securely sealed inside our minds. Once you realise the Key can access these traits, the potential becomes limitless.” She scoffed. “At least, for most of us. As Dragonborn, you’ve probably unsealed them already.”

Elsebet ignored that little dig. “Sounds like no one should possess it.”

She nodded. “Good, then you understand why this is about more than just Mercer’s lust for power. If the Key isn’t returned to its lock in the Twilight Sepulcher, things will never be the same for the Guild. As time passed, our luck would eventually diminish to the point of non-existence. And whether you like it or not, our uncanny luck defines our trade.”

_So, it wasn’t just about revenge for Mercer_ , Elsebet thought. She was glad, she liked Karliah. She didn’t want the Dunmer to end up only thinking about herself.

A small grin appeared on her face—not that the others could see it, though. “First time I’ve ever set out to return something…”

Karliah’s eyes crinkled in a smile as she let out a chuckle. “Very true. In our line of work, it’s quite rare we set out to return a stolen item to its rightful owner.”

“Let’s go, then.”

“We should wait until morning to go after Mercer, otherwise we’ll all be tired by the time we get there. In the meantime, Brynjolf has some business to discuss. I suggest you listen to him.”

And then she walked towards the gate they went through to get into the room. She watched her until Brynjolf got her attention.

“Listen, lass,” he said, and she looked over at him and into his bright green eyes. “There’s one last piece of business we need to settle before we go after Mercer… the leadership of the Guild.”

Elsebet blinked at him. “Why tell me this?”

“Karliah and I had a long discussion before you arrived here,” he said. “Thanks to your efforts, Mercer’s treachery has been exposed. After we deal with him, all that remains is restoring the Guild to its full strength. As a result, we both feel that you have the potential of replacing Mercer as leader of the Thieves Guild.”

Her, a leader? She may not like to follow, but she sure as Oblivion hated leading. She liked doing what she wanted without people telling her what to do. She only joined the Thieves Guild because of Thrynn. She never wanted to lead it.

“Me? What about you?”

“I’ve been at this game a long time, my friend. A long time. I’ve stolen trinkets from nobles and framed priests for murder. I’m good at what I do, maybe even one of the best. But it’s all I know. I’ve never been one to lead. Never desired it, never cared for it. Don’t want it.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, it’s not right.”

He sighed, and placed a hand on her shoulder. It took all she had to not punch him in the face. “Look. Everyone in the Guild admires what you’ve done. Maybe they won’t come out and simply tell you, but I promise you it’s true. And now they know Mercer never genuinely cared about the Guild. He lacked the loyalty you obviously possess. I can’t think of anyone better.”  


She shook her head again. “I can’t. I-I don’t _want_ to lead. I _can’t_ lead.”

“You’re the Dragonborn, I’m sure you’ll be great at it,” he said. “Besides, if not you, then who?”

“Arcaelo.”

The name escaped her mouth before she knew that she had thought of it. But after she said it, it made sense. Sure, Arcaelo hated her guts, but she was a great thief, and from what Risorallen had told her about his sister, she liked to lead, and was good at it. And she had done more for the Guild than Elsebet had. It was because of her that Solitude and Markarth were under the Guild’s banner. The only major city left was Windhelm, and then she would go on to the minor ones.

She actually had a plan for the Guild. Mercer didn’t, and Elsebet sure doesn’t.

Brynjolf shook his head. “She rules too much with her heart, doesn’t give time to think. I think the best thing for the Guild would be if you ran it.”

_Or, I could run it for five minutes and then give it to Arcaelo_ , she thought.

Making up her mind, she nodded. “Okay then. I accept.”

He lowered his hand. “Then it’s decided. When it’s all over, when Mercer’s dead, we’ll handle the details. Until then, we have quite the task ahead.”

“Then let’s get to it.”

“I’ve been pouring over the plans you brought us, and I’m convinced the Eyes of the Falmer are in the dwarven ruins at Irkngthand. We’ll set out there in the morning, when we’re rested up. Prepare yourself, lass. This will be a fight to remember!”

They left the Nightingale Hall and headed back to the Guild, still in the Nightingale Armour. When they entered the Cistern, all eyes were on them, making Elsebet very self-conscious, but it wasn’t like it hadn’t happened before. Every time she absorbed a dragon’s soul, people were always staring. But this… this was different.

She pulled off her hood and face mask as she sat down on her bed, sighing about what was ahead of her. She’d heard of Irkngthand. It was in Eastmarch, west of Windhelm. It would take about a day and a half to get there, and that was if they weren’t caught in a snowstorm. It might have been spring, but Eastmarch was Eastmarch, and it always snowed there, as well as Winterhold.

“What are you wearing?”

She looked up from the floor she was staring at to Rune, who was looking at her with a quizzical look.

“What?”

“Your armour,” he said. “It’s different.”

She looked back down at her armour. “Oh, this. It’s the Nightingale Armour,” she said, and looked over at Brynjolf and Karliah, standing next to Mercer’s desk and talking.

He blinked. “Nightingale Armour? I thought Nightingales were a myth?”

“You thought wrong,” she said. She spotted Arcaelo, coming out of the tunnel that led to the training room, and thought about what she had decided. She would have to talk to her about it, despite not having talked to her since she had joined several months earlier. In fact, she had hardly seen the Imperial woman since that day.

“Hey, I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you when you got back, but you had to go to Mercer’s place and then you disappeared again afterwards.”

She looked up at him, a small smirk on her face. “We’re already talking.”

“I-I know. But, you know, in private.”

She stared at him for a moment before she nodded. “Okay.” She stood up. “Lead the way.”

He went down the tunnel leading to the Ragged Flagon, and turned at one of the rooms that was always empty. He closed the door after she entered, and she turned to him.

“So, what did you want to talk about?”

He eyes flicked down to her lips. “This.”

And then he grabbed her hips, pulled her towards him, and pressed his lips against hers.


	24. Another Dwemer Ruin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing.

Elsebet’s mind was blank as Rune’s lips were pressed against hers, his hands on her hips. And she was so stunned that she didn’t respond, not even to attack him like she usually did when someone touched her without her permission.

After a couple seconds, he pulled away, dropping his hands from her hips and taking a step back.

He ran a hand down his face. “I’m sorry, I had to do that. I thought you were dead, and I thought I lost my chance, and then you came back and—”

“Shut up,” she muttered, grabbing his neck and pulling him forward, connecting their lips again.

Again, her mind went blank, a blissful silence from the torment it usually was, and she moved her lips on his.

Out of breath, she pulled away, and looked up into his soft brown eyes. He was about an inch taller than her, something that was hard considering she was six foot, but she was glad of it when she went in for another kiss, and he pulled her flush against him.

Her fingers raised into his hair, clumping it together as Rune licked her bottom lip, and she opened her mouth, their tongues and saliva mixing together. She could smell him, more clearly than she had ever, and he smelt like leather and metal and wood. His fingers dug into her hips, trying to pull her closer.

When they finally parted, both of them gasping for breath, they leant their foreheads together.

“I have been waiting for that since Honningbrew,” Elsebet said, looking into his eyes.

He grinned at her. “I liked that talk. Wanna have another one?”

She grinned back at her, and pressed her lips to his as the door opened, and the two of them flung apart as they looked at the door.

Garthar blinked at them from the open doorway, staring at the red faces of Elsebet and Rune. “I, uh, I’ll come back.”

“No,” Elsebet said. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to know if you wanted to get a drink at the Flagon, seeing as how we’re reacquainted and all.” He shook his head. “But if it’s not a good time—”

“I’d love to,” she said, and she sent Rune an apologetic look.

He nodded and sent her an understanding smile. And with that, Elsebet and Garthar headed to the Ragged Flagon, leaving Rune behind in the empty room.

* * *

Eastmarch was very cold, but Elsebet’s new armour helped keep it out. Along with her Nordic blood, the chestplate was frost resistant, and she was glad of that.

She, Brynjolf, and Karliah were walking up the embankment to the dwemer ruin of Irkngthand, their hoods drawn low, their face masks on, and their capes blowing in the wind. Elsebet thought they looked dramatic as fuck, but she wasn’t going to say it. She basically just met Karliah, who knew how she felt about jokes like that.

“There are bandits out front,” Brynjolf told his companions, his voice muffled by his face mask.

Elsebet groaned. She hated bandits. She hoped that at least one of them was an Orc, because that was the only blood she needed left in the essence extractor Septimus Signus had given her, besides Falmer blood, of course. But she was most likely going to get some in the ruins of the city in front of them, as they were always full of the Falmer.

As she stared up at one of the towers that jutted out of the white landscape, she pushed down memories of Alftand, which wasn’t too far away from where she was now. Twice already she had looked over and expected to see Risorallen. 

She closed her eyes and shook her head of the thought and pulled her bow off her back, both her swords, Gallus’s Nightingale Blade and Chillrend, bumping against her hips and thighs. Because of Chillrend, she had been forced to put her quiver on her back again, instead of on her hip where it had been previously, so she reached over her shoulder and pulled an arrow out of her quiver. She nocked it, aiming at the bandit that was on a wooden walkway along the tops of some of the towers, built to get to the entrance of Irkngthand, and let the arrow loose.

All she saw in the distance was a body falling a long way to the ground, alerting the other bandits in the area.

The three of them fought through them, cutting down seven of them before they got to the doors. Behind Brynjolf and Karliah’s backs, Elsebet had quickly taken the blood of one of the fallen bandits, an Orc with an elven arrow pointing out of his heart, and secured it inside the extractor.

All she needed now was Falmer blood, and then she’d go back to Winterhold and give it to Septimus Signus. And then, she’d board a boat to Solstheim and deal with whoever Miraak was.

She wasn’t sure if she would take Rune with her or not. If she _should_. He didn’t know about what she was, _who_ she was, and she didn’t know if she wanted him to.

When they entered the ruin, they saw a camp. They readied their weapons in case there were any bandits left, but it only took them a second to realise that they were already dead—slaughtered where they slept.

Karliah growled. “Mercer’s been here. This had to be him.”

They ascended the stairs at the other side of the entrance, and they went through a hall that hadn’t collapsed. Elsebet hoped that the way to Mercer hadn’t collapsed after he went through. Because if all that was between them was a wall of rubble, you can bet that she’d find a way through it.

A familiar clanking sound filled her ears, and she unsheathed the Nightingale Blade as a dwarven sphere rolled out of its containment and unfolded into the size of what was probably the average height of a Deep Elf. She ducked its blade arms and thrust the sword into its left shoulder. The blade severed the wires in it, and it fell off. Another slash to its neck made it fall apart.

Karliah and Brynjolf watched her as she sheathed the sword.

“This isn’t my first dwarven ruin,” she said, answering their unasked question.

They continued forward, through a low-ceilinged room and through a gate that lead into a massive chamber with a staircase leading up to a walkway and a staircase leading down onto a small path that had another staircase going down to the floor, both levels having more of the dwarven sphere containment units.

She swore inwardly. She really hated Dwemer Cities. She didn’t care that this was only her second one. She hated them.

Quietly, they descended the first set of stairs, and then the second, but they were surprised by a dwarven sphere that had been roaming the floor, and it unfolded as Elsebet saw from the corner of her eye two more come out fo the containment units. She swore loudly, and unsheathed both her swords. 

Brynjolf got the first as the other two got to them, and Karliah took one and Elsebet took the other. She wasn’t very skilled in dual-wielding, but it was always best to learn when your life is in danger, as they said.

She swung the sword in her right hand, the Nightingale Blade bouncing off the sphere’s metal body, and she brought across Chillrend, slashing at the exposed wiring of the neck. As machines didn’t obey the law of humans, its head went limp, ice being formed on the metal surrounding the cut wire, but continued to attack her.

She ducked one of the blades attacked to its arm, and dodged a bolt that shot out of its other arm. She kicked out her leg, connected with the bottom of the sphere, and it went topping to the floor. With the opportunity she needed, Elsebet severed the wiring in its chest with her sword, and it started falling to bits.

She looked around to see Karliah and Brynjolf finishing off their own spheres.

They made their way into the next room, the floor covered in rubble, and as they stepped inside stone pillars emerged from the ground, and started shooting fire out of its sides, slowly rotating the flames.

Karliah and Brynjolf stared at the pillars in shock, but Elsebet went in, crawling on her knees below the fire. She heard the others following her, and they were soon on the other side, unscathed.

They turned a corner and Elsebet opened a chest at the end of the short hall, but it was empty, probably looted by Mercer when he came through. Sighing, they went up the staircase to their left, leading them to a walkway that was above the room of fire-pillars they had just been in, and through a metal door that had a small staircase leading to an elevator with a lever in the middle.

Grasping the lever, Elsebet pulled it, and the elevator shuddered once before beginning to lower.

When the elevator stopped, they didn’t know how far below the surface they were, and Elsebet sent a silent prayer to Akatosh, hoping she didn’t end up in Blackreach again. They descended a staircase, and Karliah spoke for the first time since entering the ruin.

“We should tread carefully,” she said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s left behind a few surprises for us.”

When Elsebet opened the door in front of them, a mace on a chain came down from the ceiling, and she took a step back to avoid it.

She scoffed. “If that’s the type of trap we’re going to keep getting, then he’s not as smart as he thinks.”

“But he does know how to goad us,” Brynjolf said, stepping into the hall. In the corner before the turn was a stone slab of sorts, with a bottle of Black-Briar Reserve, three lockpicks, and the Shadowmark of the Guild carved into the surface.

“He knows we’re here,” Karliah growled. “He plans to ambush us.”

“I don’t care. Either way, he’s going to die,” Elsebet said.

Brynjolf nodded. “Let’s keep going, then.”

She nodded, and started heading down the hall, but something in on of the grates that lined the walls caught her eye. She turned to it, and saw the lock built into it, meaning it could be entered. She picked the lock, which took about a minute, and swung it open.

She grinned greedily as she saw the gold, ingots, and chests inside.

“Good eye,” Brynjolf said.

They pocketed everything, splitting the loot between them, and continued on to a balcony above a massive cavern, too massive to have been manmade—but with the Dwarves, who knew? They were architectural and mechanical masterminds—with untouched gems and ores all over the roof. The only thing keeping them apart from the cavern was a high fence built around the balcony.

“Wait a moment… what’s that?” Karliah asked, pointing down into the cavern. At a platform on one side of it was a falmer, and creeping up behind it was a man. “It’s Mercer! Look… down there!”

“I’m on it, lass,” Brynjolf said, and tried to find a way to open the fence as Mercer killed the falmer and stalked back where he came. “Damn it! There’s no way through.”

“He’s toying with us,” Karliah said. “He wants us to follow.”

“Aye, lass… and we’ll be ready for him. Let’s keep moving.”

Elsebet led the way off the other side of the balcony and through a door. They went down a ramp, careful not to slip on any of the rubble, and shivered as they passed chaurus eggs. They went down another hall, and into a cavern, but not the one they had seen Mercer in. This one was a lot smaller, but still big.

“Look at the size of this place,” Brynjolf said, looking around at the walls and ceiling. “Have you seen anything like it in your life, lass?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Karliah said as they passed through the cavern, down a set of stairs and avoiding a swinging blade trap much like the one in the Dwemer museum. “Imagine the riches hidden in these walls.”

“I’ve seen something much bigger,” Elsebet said. “Blackreach. It spans the entire middle of Skyrim, from Morthal to Dawnstar down passed Whiterun.”

Brynjolf looked over at her. “I thought Blackreach was a myth?”

“Start hanging around me more, and things stop being myths,” she said.

She heard the unmistakable cry of a falmer, and she nocked an arrow and aimed it in the direction the sound came from. She saw the falmer charging at her, able to know where they are despite its blindness, and let the arrow loose. It hit the falmer in the neck, and it fell to the ground dead.

She told Brynjolf and Karliah to continue while she quickly took its blood, the extractor now full. 

After dealing with Mercer, she would go back up to Winterhold.

Through another hall, they found themselves in another chamber, very high and very long. There were falmer dotted on top of crumbled towers, and there was a walkway made of dirt and stone snaking behind them.

“It looks like we can take either the high road or the low road. Your decision, lass,” Brynjolf said, looking at Elsebet.

She decided to take the high road, sniping down the falmer as she passed. About halfway through the cavern the entire place began to shake, and then the sound of something crashing came.

“What in Oblivion was that?” she asked, and ran towards the other side of the cavern.

Shooting one last falmer, the three of them found that the crashing sound had been the sound of a tower crumbling, ridding them of the direct way through to where Mercer was.

“So this is what we heard,” Brynjolf said. “The entire tower collapsed.”

“The only reason to do that would be to block pursuit. It must be Mercer,” Karliah said.

“Or it could be that this place is super old,” Elsebet said. “But yeah, it was probably him.”

The Dunmer shook her head. “Either way, we’ll have to find another way around.”

They spotted a ramp leading into another tower, and they started up it.

“Mercer was able to knock this thing down? Gods…” Brynjolf muttered, shaking his head.

“It’s the Key, Brynjolf,” Karliah said. “In his hands, there’s no telling what he’s capable of.”

At the top of the ramp, Elsebet pushed open a door, and led the way downset of staircases into a small room that looked looted, with a dead falmer in the middle. They went through a gate and then another door, stepping over bear traps Mercer must have left for them.

Through the door was a massive cavern, and one look at a stone platform on the other side told them that they were in the cavern they had seen Mercer in. At the bottom of the set of stairs in front of them was a bunch of falmer, and a dwarven centurion in its stand, offline.

Elsebet nocked an arrow, and aimed it at the centurion.

“What are you doing,” Karliah asked in a hushed whisper.

“Waking up the centurion,” she whispered back. “Either it will kill all the falmer, or the falmer will kill it. Either way, there will be less falmer.”

She let the arrow fly, and it just skimmed the bronze plating of the the centurion’s chestplate, which was Elsebet’s plan. Steam started bellowing out of its every orifice, alerting the falmer, and stepped out of its stand.

The falmer jumped at it, swords raised, a couple of them using magic. The centurion bellowed steam at the falmer in front of it, killing them with how hot it was. He swiped with one of its arm blades, taking out three of the falmer, and stepped on another one, crushing it. It swung around, its blades swinging around its body, killing every falmer they touched before letting out another jet of steam.

With only a few falmer left, one of the once-great Snow Elves jumped onto its back, and hacked at the wiring in its neck and underneath the metal that protected its core.

Elsebet aimed an arrow and fired it at the falmer as the centurion fell heavily onto the floor, dead. The falmer soon joined him.

Brynjolf looked at her, impressed. “Well done, lass.”

She smirked underneath her face mask and started towards the stairs leading to a walkway around the platform they had seen Mercer on. She shot an arrow at a falmer that was patrolling, and climbed the stairs and around to the bridge that went over the middle of the chamber. She shot another falmer, and went onto the platform Mercer had been on.

She, Brynjolf, and Karliah went through the door.

“The stench… this place reeks of Falmer,” Brynjolf said.

“This must be their hive,” Karliah muttered. “We’ll have to keep quiet if we want to avoid drawing their attention.”

Elsebet nodded, and drew an arrow and aimed it at a dwarven spider. When the arrow hit it, sparks flew everywhere.

They went through a gate and down a ramp with a natural floor.

“Do they also have no sense of smell? This place reeks!”

“Stop moaning, Brynjolf,” Elsebet told him. “We’re trying to be silent, remember?”

He sent a playful glare at her as they hit a stone staircase, and they descended them and onto a small platform behind a thick-barred gate. On the other side beneath them were two falmer, and in front of Elsebet was a wheel.

She gripped it and turned it. At first it wouldn’t move, probably rusted from disuse, until it budged slightly, and then it started turning freely until it reached the end of the turn.

Between the two falmer on the ground below them, a swinging blade rose up from the floor and started swinging. Its twin blades cut into the flesh of the falmer, spraying everywhere as they were killed.

She turned the wheel again in the opposite direction, and the blade stopped spinning and retreated back into the floor.

“You really know how to use those traps,” Karliah said, her purple eyes on the Nord as they descended the stairs into the chamber.

She looked over at the Dunmer. “This isn’t my first dwarven ruin,” she said, repeating what she had told them at the beginning of the ruin.

Karliah nodded.

They continued through the small chamber and down a hallway with pressure plates on the floor. They stepped over them, not wanting to know what trap they caused. As they continued down the hall, the air started getting thick, the air gloomy.

Karliah peered through a gate into the next cavern, with a low-ceiling and very long, from what Elsebet could see. “There’s a mass of the Falmer in this chamber. We can sneak through or take them down… I don’t care. As long as we get to Mercer.”

“We’ll sneak through,” Elsebet said. “Follow my lead, and only attack if they do. I’d rather avoid bloodshed if unnecessary.”

Brynjolf and Karliah nodded, and followed her as she entered the cavern and snuck along the opposite side of the grate, and onto a natural ramp that hugged the edge of the cavern and above the falmer. It sloped back to the ground, where there was a fence with a chaurus leg gate in the middle, just next to a falmer hut with a fire in front of it, where a falmer shaman was sitting, its arms up and taking in its warmth.

Elsebet half-turned to her two companions and put a finger onto her mask, telling them to be quiet. She then put a hand up in indication to wait there, and then she crossed passed the fire quietly, careful where she stepped, and to the darkness of the opposite wall, where there was another gate, but a quite jiggle of it made her realise that it was locked. Shrugged, she vaulted over it, landing softly on the other side of the fence.

She leaned back over the fence and put up one finger, then made a ‘come here’ motion. Following what she motioned, Brynjolf snuck passed the falmer, Karliah staying back, and vaulted the fence so he was standing next to Elsebet. She then motioned for Karliah to come, and she did.

They turned to the end of the cavern, just in front of them, and Elsebet led them through a narrow tunnel with piped jutting out of the stone.

“I can hear rushing water through these pipes,” Karliah whispered. “We must be beneath a lake.”

They got to the end of the tunnel, where it opened into another cavern, with pipes going everywhere, sending water to different parts of the ruined city. Elsebet motioned for them to follow her, and they snuck up another natural ramp that got them over the falmer, halfway through the cavern before the natural ramp stopped, with pipes coming out of the end of it, going to the end of the cavern. Elsebet warily put her foot on one of the pipes to test their strength, and when it didn’t buckle she climbed fully onto it, and carefully crept along its length.

At the end of the pipes, she looked over the side of them, where a falmer patrol was heading towards the rest of the cavern, and away from the tunnel she, Brynjolf, and Karliah needed to go through.

Carefully, Elsebet lowered herself down the side of the pipe, and slid off the side of it and onto the floor. She motioned for the other two to do the same as she quickly darted to the tunnel, bigger than the other one.

It opened quickly into a small cave, sloping down farther into the ground, and Elsebet sidestepped a falmer as it came far too close for comfort. She looked over her shoulder and saw that Karliah and Brynjolf were pressing theirselves into the wall as it passed. Nodding at them, she led the way to the bottom of the cave, where there was a fire pit and two falmer huts in front of a gate. She opened the gate and slid down a slope before a bronze door, and as she placed her gloved hand on it, the tips of her fingers cold from the metal, she heard Karliah speak.

“He’s close. I’m certain of it. We must prepare ourselves.”

“Then this is it,” Brynjolf said. “We do this for Gallus and the Guild.”

Elsebet looked over her shoulder at the armour-clad Nord, and then pushed open the door.

As the doors swung silently behind them, Elsebet stared at the massive statue in the middle of the cavern, falmer littering the floor below the balcony the three of them stood on. No, she wasn’t staring at the statue. She was staring at the figure that was prying one of the eyes out of its stone socket, before it slid out and landed on the floor.

“He’s here,” Karliah said in a hushed whisper, “and he hasn’t seen us yet. Brynjolf, watch the door.”

Brynjolf nodded as Mercer bent down and picked up the Eye. “Aye, lass. Nothing’s getting passed me.”

Karliah tapped Elsebet on the arm. “Climb down that ledge and see if you can…”

“Karliah, when will you learn that you can’t get the drop on me?”

Elsebet, who had started doing Karliah’s request, went still as a cold shiver ran through her veins as Mercer’s voice boomed throughout the cavern.

He turned to them, pushing the Eye into his pack, and lit a spell up in his hand. He cast it, and the floor beneath Elsebet’s feet disappeared.


	25. A Fight to Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Elsebet landed heavily on the floor below the balcony, pain lacing up and down her legs, though with the adrenaline pumping through her veins she could barely feel it. She pushed herself to her feet as Mercer scowled down at her, now on the arm of the Snow Elf statue instead of its shoulder.

“When Brynjolf brought you before me I could feel a sudden shift in the wind. And at that moment, I knew it would end with one of us at the end of a blade.”

Elsebet glared up at him, hands reaching up to take off her face mask and hood, and she let them hang around her neck. She wanted to Shout him apart, and that wasn’t going to happen if her mouth was obstructed.

“Give me the Key, Mercer,” she yelled up at him.

He scoffed, the sound echoing off the high roof of the cavern, and it was then that she realised that there were streams of water filtering out of cracks in the roof, probably made when Mercer made Elsebet fall to the ground.

“What’s Karliah been filling your head with? Tales of thieves with honour? Oaths rife with falsehoods and broken promises? Nocturnal doesn’t care about you, the Key, or anything having to do with the Guild.”

“It’s not about Nocturnal,” she yelled. “This is personal.”

“Revenge is it? Have you learned nothing from your time with us? When will you open your eyes and realise how little my actions differ from yours? Both of us lie, cheat, and steal to further our own end.”

“The difference is that I still have honour.”

He scoffed again. “It’s clear you’ll never see the Skeleton Key as I do… as an instrument of limitless wealth. Instead you’ve chosen to fall over your own foolish code.”

“If anyone falls, it will be you.”

“Then the die is cast, and once again my blade will taste Nightingale blood!”

He lit his hand with another spell and shot it at Brynjolf as Elsebet unsheathed the Nightingale Blade and Chillrend.

“Karliah, I’ll deal with you after I rid myself of your irksome companion. In the meantime, perhaps you and Brynjolf should get reacquainted.”

“ _WULD!_ ”

Elsebet rocketed herself to the bottom of the staircase leading to where Mercer was, and given she hadn’t used that Shout in front of him, he stared at her with a startled expression before he unsheathed his weapons with a deep scowl on his face and launched himself at her.

She was ready for the attack, and she dodged the two swords before she swung Chillrend at Mercer’s chest. Her blocked it with the dagger in his left hand and went for his own swipe. She blocked it with the Nightingale Blade, and then she raised her foot and kicked him in the gut, sending him stumbling backwards.

She swung her blades around before pointing Chillrend at his chest.

He charged at her again, and then they were a flurry of movements and sword clashes. They seemed to be evenly matched, until Mercer took his dagger and threw it into Elsebet’s right knee.

She let out a scream, and she fell to the ground, her swords skittering just out of reach. Mercer kicked her in the side, his sword aimed at her neck.

“I ought to cut that voice box out of your throat right now,” he said, pressing the tip hard enough to draw blood. She let out a whimper, and she kicked at his knee with her leg that didn’t have the knife in.

As he fell to his knees as his leg gave out under him, she sucked in breath to let out her Thu’um, but Mercer pounced on her and shoved his hand over her mouth, crushing her lips against her teeth, stopping her from being able to form the words properly.

She started clawing at the hand as he pressed down harder, pushing her head against the floor hard enough for it to start hurting. The adrenaline that had been pumping through her was now starting to wane, and she felt the pain fully from her fall, and then her knee and the cut on her neck. Tears started pricking at her eyes as he grabbed the handle of the knife in her knee and twisted it.

Pain erupted in her knee, and she screamed against his hand, unable to keep the pain in. The tears in her eyes started falling down the sides of her face, and her leg thrashed, trying to get away from the pain, but only making it worse.

A cruel smile appeared on Mercer face as he kept twisting, and Elsebet’s vision started to become black at the edges. The pain was too much for her, and it was definitely the most pain she had ever been in.

He pulled the dagger out of her knee and held it above Elsebet, covered in her blood. He rose it higher, ready to deliver a killing blow, but he suddenly jerked to the side, the dagger falling from his grip and falling next to Elsebet’s head.

Her mouth now free, she struggled to push herself up from the floor, and saw that Mercer had been hit with an arrow in the shoulder. With great effort, she turned her head to where Karliah had resumed fighting with Brynjolf, and she let out a sob as she forced herself to her knees, screaming from the pain in her knee.

She reached for the dagger that had landed next to her, and moved herself on top of him, straddling his waist. She raised the dagger up above her head, and pushed him towards it. Instead of going through his heart, though, it went through his left hand, which he had raised to defend himself. And despite being injured, he somehow pushed her off of him and was above her again, pulling the dagger out of his hand and ready to stab her with it.

“ _FUS RO DAH!_ ”

He was rocketed off of her, high into the air before gravity started taking over and he fell back to the ground, dagger skittering along the ground as he groaned in pain.

Elsebet reached for the nearest weapon, Gallus’s Nightingale Blade, and crawled over to where Mercer lay prone on the ground, pushing through the pain that laced around her knee and up and down her leg.

As Mercer began pushing himself up, Elsebet stabbed him in the heart, pinning him to the wall behind him.

He coughed up blood, and glared at her as she twisted the sword, making him scream out in pain. Blood continued to dribble over the sides of his mouth as he reached up his pierced hand and grasped the blade, trying to pull it out of his chest, but all it did was cut his fingers, and blood started pooling beneath his body.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Elsebet asked him. “You cut down Gallus with your blade, and now his blade is the one that ends you.”

He coughed again, his hand going limp, and continued to glare at her. “ _Fuck you_.”

The water that had been trickling in was at their feet, now, and as Mercer’s head fell back, limp, lifeless, dead, the roof started caving in, crashing into the water with streams of water filling the cavern.

The salt in the water stung the wound on her knee, and it was like every bit of adrenaline had been sucked out of her body—pain erupted throughout her entire body, and it took all of her not to collapse onto her side and let the water surround her and end the pain that she was in.

But she had to get out there.

Chillrend floated over to her, and she plucked the ice-cold blade out of the water and sheathed it in its scabbard. She then pulled the Nightingale Blade out of Mercer’s chest and sheathed that too, before tearing his pack off the side of his body and held it in her grip.

“Damn!” Karliah yelled over the rushing of the water, now no longer fighting Brynjolf, who wanted to kill her because of Mercer’s spell. “This place is coming down! Quick, get the Skeleton Key and the Eye and lets get out of here!”

Panting from exertion, Elsebet opened the pack and saw the two massive gems that were the Eyes of the Falmer, and a little digging showed that the Key wasn’t in the pack. She got closer to Mercer and checked all his pockets, finally finding the Daedric Artefact in a pocket sown into his sleeve for lockpicks.

“No luck there, lass,” Brynjolf said, trying to open the door but unable to. “Something must have fallen on the other side of the door because it isn’t moving!”

“We have to find another way out of here before the place fills with water!” Karliah cried, and frantically dove into the water to check for any hidden passages that would lead out of the cavern.

Elsebet moved to search with her, but the pain intensified briefly as she moved. Tears of pain fell down her cheeks, and she started getting cold.

_Don’t move_.

Elsebet looked up, not recognising the voice that spoke. After a minute of looking, she wondered if she imagined it. She went to move again.

_Mercer is dead, but you will be too if you don’t stop moving._

That time, she knew she wasn’t hearing things. The voice spoke clearly inside her mind, deep and calming, making Elsebet want to do what it said.

But she knew if she didn’t move she would drown.

She managed to get to her feet, leaning heavily against the wall, black spots dancing over her vision, and she swore she saw the outline of a man in front of her, his arms crossed, shaking his head in disappointment.

And then her vision went black, and she felt herself falling back into the water.

“When someone tells you to stop moving, you stop moving.”

She blinked, and she could see again, except she wasn’t in Irkngthand anymore. Instead, she was in what looked like the Hall of the Dead in Whiterun. She blinked, knowing exactly what was going on, and looked over to see a brown-skinned man—sort of like a Redguard, but not quite—looking down at her, wearing the robes of a priest.

“I had to get out of there,” she said, and pushed herself to a sitting position, swinging her legs over the side of the table she had been laying on. “I still do.”

“Your friends will get you out. But I didn’t bring you here because of that.”

“Then why did you bring me here?”

“To tell you to _stop nearly dying!_ ” he shouted, exasperated. He sighed, calming down. “There are certain times where everyone is supposed to die, but nothing is set in stone. Things like this can change that. The last one possible is most always old age, but there are a certain few whose last ending isn’t that, but before that.”

She blinked at him. “Why are you telling me this?”

He crossed his arms. “Because you’re one of these people. There is a specific time you _absolutely_ have to die, and it is my duty to prolong your death until then. All the times you have almost died—when Alva stabbed you, when you fought Alduin the second time, when Karliah filled you with the poison that ultimately saved you from dying at the hands of Mercer, when you almost toppled to your death in Markarth, _now_ —all of it was me.”

“You’ve been saving me?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Who do you think got Thonar to warn you about Alva? If he didn’t warn you, you wouldn’t have turned, and she would have stabbed you through the heart. I whispered in your head while you were falling in Sovngarde, I was the thing that made Karliah shoot you instead of Mercer, and I got Endon to walk passed you while you were unconscious at the bottom of the waterfall.

“Of course, I only whispered ideas. They are the ones that ultimately saved you. I just gave them a push in the direction of you surviving.”

Elsebet stared at him for a second. “But there’s something I don’t get—if you hadn’t told Karliah to shoot me instead of Mercer, he would have been taken to the Guild. He wouldn’t’ve stabbed me. Who even are you?”

He placed a hand on his chest. “Forgive me, I always assume people know who I am. I am Arkay, God of Life and Death. As for what you said, that is true. But he would have gotten free in the Cistern, and he would have ran straight at you because he knew you were the Dragonborn. But you didn’t want to reveal your secret to the Guild, so you didn’t use your Thu’um, and that is what would have ultimately killed you—even today, if you hadn’t Shouted him off of you, he would have killed you.”

“But how do you know that?” she asked. “I thought I had a set death?”

“That is not your set death,” he said. “As I said, nothing is set in stone, even the future. _Especially_ the future. As for how I knew, Akatosh has shown me with his Time powers the times you will die, and different ways around the death. But he cannot interfere directly, so he has tasked me to do it.”

“But why can you interfere and he can’t?” she asked, her brow furrowed. “You’re both Divines, both gods. What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that I have a closer connection to mortals than Akatosh does, as my sphere of influence encompasses the natural cycle of life and death. Everything dies. Some are reborn, but for that to happen they must first die.”

“When will I die?"

A small smile appeared on his face, dark eyes glinting in amusement. “That, I cannot tell you. Spoilers, and all that. But when the time comes, you will know. I promise you that.”

There was silence for a minute as a question entered her mind, but she didn’t know if she wanted to ask it.

“You have another question,” Arkay said. “What is it?”

“You just said that some people are reborn,” Elsebet said quietly. “Is it possible to see if a certain person has?”

He sighed, and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Even if this person was reborn, you would not see them. They are not reborn here, but a different world. I can’t say anything else on the topic, but I believe that with time, the question will be answered.”

She nodded, understanding.

“Now, it’s time to wake up. Your companions have taken you out of Irkngthand and to a nearby inn, where a healer is now healing you. I’ll be keeping an eye on you, making sure you don’t die prematurely.”

He snapped his fingers, and when Elsebet blinked, she was staring at the thatch roof of an inn, much like the god had told her.


	26. Some Much Needed Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing.
> 
> OH MY GODS GUYS GUESS WHAT GUESS WHAT GUESS WHAT?????????
> 
> I FINISHED THIS LITERALLY A MINUTE AGO!!!! IT IS COMPLETED!!!!!!!!!!! SO THAT MEANS THAT YOU'RE GOING TO GET THE REST OF TEH CHAPTERS STRAIGHT AFTER THIS ONE OH GODS I'M EXCITED!!!!!!!!

Elsebet felt warm, and she looked down to see Hjolma hovering over her knee, her hands alight with a yellowish glow. When she saw that her twin was awake, she smiled at her.

“You’re awake. I must say, you scared me a bit there.”

“Hjolma? What are you doing here? Where are we?”

“We’re in Nightgate Inn,” Hjolma said. “Karliah sent me a letter telling me that you were seriously injured. We came as soon as we could.”

Elsebet blinked. “We?”

Her twin nodded. “Mother, Advard, Istah, Aletara and Kyrun came with me. They’re all very worried about you. And…” She trailed off.

“What is it?”

She looked Elsebet in the eyes. “Father’s outside, too. Karliah sent him a letter, as well.” She paused. “Why didn’t you tell me he was back?”

“Hjolma—”

“First you miss my wedding, and now you don’t tell me that father’s back.” She lowered her arms, stopping the healing spell, and looked at her knees. “Before, you would have come, and you would have told me. Told us. But now… now it’s like you’re a whole different person.”

Elsebet sighed, and pushed herself into a sitting position, her back against the bed’s headboard. “Things have changed, Sister. I am a whole different person. It’s what trauma does to a person. And I’m not blaming trauma,” she said, when she saw Hjolma opening her mouth to interject. “I’m just saying that it’s one of the reasons. Another reason is because I was busy, and there was guilt. 

“I had just been stabbed by Mercer, shot by Karliah, and I had to go to Markarth, and then Riften, infiltrate Mercer’s house, and then go to Irkngthand. I haven’t had time. And for the wedding, it had just been Risorallen’s funeral, and Aletara would have likely been there, and I couldn’t be around her. I’m the reason he’s dead, Hjolma, I couldn’t do that to her.”

“So instead you just missed your twin sister’s wedding,” she said bitterly.

“And nothing I say is going to excuse the fact. I know that. I’ve felt incredibly guilty since the day, but I couldn’t make myself do it.”

It was silent for several minutes as the weight of what she said settled in the air between the twin sisters. Elsebet sighed, and leaned her head back against the wall. It was like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders—she had been wanting to say that since the day she missed her wedding, and now she finally did. Sure, it was after she had nearly died, and after talking to a god, but it still counted. That was all that mattered.

“How bad is it?”

Elsebet lifted her head off the wall and looked at her sister in confusion. “What?”

“How bad is the trauma?” she asked, still looking at her hands that were resting on her knees.

It took a second for Elsebet to respond. “It’s pretty bad. It’s probably going to get worse. A lot worse.”

“Do you get nightmares?”

“Most nights. Some nights I drink myself unconscious, terrified of what they might be.”

Hjolma looked up, then, tears in her bright blue eyes. “That’s unhealthy. It’s going to ruin your body.”

“Better my body than my mind.”

Hjolma looked back down at her hands. After a minute, she stood up. “I’ll go tell everyone you’re awake. They’ll want to know what happened.”

She left the room, closing the door behind her.

Elsebet didn’t get much alone time because three seconds later, the door was bursting open, with Jorasine in the lead followed by Istah, Garthar, and Rune. She blinked at him, not expecting him to be there, as Hjolma hadn’t told her that he was there.

“Oh, my baby!” Jorasine cried, and launched herself onto her daughter, crushing her in a hug. “You have got to stop getting hurt!”

As she pulled away, Elsebet chuckled. “Yeah, that’s what Akatosh and Arkay say, too.”

Everyone looked at her. “What?”

“Nevermind,” she said, shaking her head. “Rune, I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

“I had to come,” he said. “And since when do you have a twin sister?”

“Since I was born, obviously,” she laughed. “Hello, Father, Istah, how have you two been?”

“It’s bad enough that you’re the Dra—” Istah started, but Jorasine shoved her elbow into his side, shutting him up. He tried again. “That you’re out in the world, now you get hurt for the second time in like a month. Why are you like this?”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “You’re just jealous.”

He scoffed. “I am not jealous!” he cried. “If I were, I would join the Thieves Guild as well. You’re not the only one father taught thief skills to.”

“That may be so, Brother dear, but I’m the only that picked up on it.”

Garthar nodded. “That’s true. She’s a natural at it.”

“So, how long until you’re all healed up?” Istah asked. “I want you to tell Kyrun that you did, in fact, climb to the top of the Archmage’s tower when you were seven. He doesn’t believe any of us.”

“Well, bring him in!” Elsebet smiled. “I actually have to return something to him, anyway.”

He and Rune left, and a couple seconds later came back with Kyrun.

“You so did not climb the Archmage’s tower when you were seven!” the Imperial said, arms crossed defiantly over his chest.

“Actually, I did,” she said. “Ask literally anyone.”

His mouth went slack. “No way.”

“Yes way.”

“No way!

“You can ask the Archmage, he informed Mother and Father I was up there.”

“But-but how?”

“She’s an amazing climber,” Jorasine said. “She’s always trying to get to high places. There’s something about it that soothes her that I will never understand.”

“It’s because I’m Dragonborn,” Elsebet said, remembering that Kyrun knew who she was. “The dragon is strong inside of me. And also because I have three dragons souls on top of my own inside of me, but anyway, I need to return something to you.”

She reached underneath her shirt and pulled out the timepiece, taking it off her neck and holding it out for him to take. “This belongs to you, and you should have it back. I’ve had it for long enough.”

“No, I gave it to you. Keep it. I certainly don’t need it.”

“This is a literal burden of mine. Just take the damn thing.”

Grumbling, he did, shoving it into one of his pockets.

Karliah knocked on the door, then, her hood down and her face mask off. “Excuse me, but will Brynjolf and I be able to talk to Elsebet in private? We still have matters about the Thieves Guild we have to discuss.”

Jorasine nodded. “Of course. Everybody out!”

She herded them out of the door, Karliah stepping aside to let them through, and then she and Brynjolf entered, closing the door behind them.

Karliah sighed in relief and joy. “I can’t believe all of this is over. Twenty-five years in exile and just like that, it’s done. All that remains is to ensure the safe return of the Skeleton Key.”

“Sounds like a simple task,” Elsebet said, and narrowed her eyes. “It probably won’t be, though.”

Karliah chuckled. "You are correct. When the Skeleton Key was stolen from the Twilight Sepulcher, out access to the inner sanctum was removed. The only way to bring it back will be through the Pilgrim’s Path.”

“I take it you never used the Pilgrim’s Path.”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t built for Nightingales. It was created to test those who wished to serve Nocturnal in other ways. As a consequence, I have no knowledge of what you’ll be facing.”

Elsebet nodded. “Then we’d best get started. How long was I out for? Time goes fast when you’re unconscious.”

The Dunmer hesitated. “Brynjolf is needed back at the Thieves Guild to keep order while you’re away. And I… I can’t face Nocturnal after my failure to protect the Key. I’m afraid you’ll have to face the end of your journey alone. And to answer your question, you’ve been out for seven days.”

The Nord woman nodded. “Okay then, sounds like I’m healed up enough. I’ll return the Key as soon as I can convince my overprotective family to let me go.”

Karliah smiled, and pulled her bow off her back. “Thank you. Take this with you. I’m not certain if it will help within the walls of the Sepulcher, but I certainly don’t need it as much as you. I’ve had this bow almost my entire life, and it’s never let me down. I hope it brings you the same luck.”

“After you put the Key back into the Sepulcher, we’ll be able to make you Guildmaster,” Brynjolf said.

Elsebet’s smiled turned forced. “Great. Can’t wait.”

The two of them left the room, and in the silence Elsebet decided to see how healed she was. Her family had probably been switching out healing her, and with the quicker healing she got from her dragon blood, she was probably good to go. She pushed the furs covering her off, and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. She bent and straightened it, testing it out. Apart from a bit of aching, it was fine.

She stood up as the door opened again, and the person she expected the least to come in did.

“Arcaelo?” she asked.

The blonde Imperial closed the door, silent. Her eyes flicked down to the scar on Elsebet’s exposed knee, before looking into her multi-coloured eyes. “You should be resting.”

“I’m fine. What are you doing here?”

She shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest. “I was around.”

“Were you really?”

She shook her head. “No, I followed Garthar and Rune here. I’ve been camping outside the last two days.”

“Why? I thought you hated me?”

She shrugged again. “I guess I did, but it’s less now. You’ve done a lot of good for the Guild, and a visit from Cyres set me straight. Even if you told him to go home, he would have come with. He did that for friends.”

“Why are you really here?” Elsebet asked.

She sighed. “I know you were wearing Nightingale armour in the Cistern last week. I want to help set the Guild’s luck straight. And you might be Dragonborn, but I think your injuries the last couple weeks indicate that you’re not immortal. You’ll need the help, especially with a busted knee.”

Elsebet ran a hand over the scar, and smiled at her. “Thank you.”

“Not many people know this, but the Champion of Cyrodiil was also in the Thieves Guild, albeit two hundred years ago,” Arcaelo said.

“So?”

“So, you’re not the first hero to join the Guild. She rose to Guildmaster, but gave it to her friend before disappearing again. Most people knew her as Eranirca, or the Masked Wanderer, as she always wore a mask that covered her nose and mouth. Most don’t know they’re the same people. But her real name was Craenari Belinius, my ancestor.”

Elsebet blinked at her. “You’re descended from the Champion of Cyrodiil?”

She nodded. “Yup. And no one knows what happened to her. Maybe you’ll have the same type of luck, and fade into obscurity. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

The Nord grinned. “Aye, it is. I don’t like fame. Never wanted it.”

“Well, now that you know more about me, will you bring me with you to the Twilight Sepulcher? I overheard your conversation,” she said, when she saw Elsebet’s confused expression.

“Why not? What’s the worst that could happen? Let’s go.”

First, though, she needed to get around her overprotective family. Arcaelo left the room, leaving Elsebet alone to get changed into the armour sitting on the bedside table. That took a bit, with her stuffed knee, but she managed to get into it and out of the door.

She got halfway to the door leading to wherever they were when someone spotted her.

“You’re supposed to be resting!” Aletara told her.

“Sod off, Aletara,” Arcaelo said. “It’s fine, she’s not in any pain.”

“She needs to rest, Arcaelo,” she said. “It’s only been a week.”

“A week of non-stop healing. Besides, she is perfectly capable of making her own decisions.”

“I thought you hated her,” Rune said. “And you know her?”

Arcaelo rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I did, but I don’t now. And she’s my older sister, so yeah, I know her.”

“It’s not like I’m going alone,” Elsebet said. “Arcaelo’s going with me.”

Aletara blinked in surprise, then backed off. “Oh, that’s alright then.”

“No, she needs rest,” Jorasine said.

Hjolma rolled her eyes. “Elsebet’s the most stubborn Nord to have ever lived, she’s going to go regardless.”

“And Arcaelo is lethal with those daggers of hers,” Aletara said. She looked at Elsebet. “If you want to go, go. But for Arkay’s sake, take some healing potions, just in case.”

Elsebet found it ironic that she had just spoken to Arkay, and that was the god Aletara decided to use. “I will. I’ll be back soon, I promise. Oh, and Mother, can you take this back home?” she asked, taking her elven bow off her back. “I’ll come back for it. I’m just going to use another one for now.”

Jorasine approached her daughter and took the outstretched bow. “Be safe.”

“I will.”


	27. The End of it All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to take this time to thank every single one of you that has read this. I love Elsebet and her journey, and I am so happy that I get to share it with you.
> 
> It's been one year, one month, and fifteen days since I started the first chapter of the first book, and I've gotten so much support from my friends, family, and teachers, and I am seriously about to cry so here's the second last chapter. I hope you enjoy it.

The Twilight Sepulcher was deep in the Falkreath pine forest. Elsebet and Arcaelo followed a trail to through the pine and into the Jerall Mountains, hoping that it wasn’t too deep that they found themselves in Cyrodiil.

But as luck would have it, the Sepulcher wasn’t too deep into the mountains, about where the pine forest turned into the mountains proper, and she dismounted her horse, Arcaelo dismounting her own as well.

“So this is the Twilight Sepulcher?” she asked, following Elsebet to the door. “Doesn’t look like much.”

“I’ve learned that the more impressive places always have unassuming facades.”

They went down a small tunnel, that opened into a cavern with a nordic-style door on the other side of it, with a path and stairs leading up to it. Standing on those stairs was a ghost, wearing the Nightingale armour.

They approached it.

“I don’t recognise you, but I sense that you’re one of us. Who are you?” the ghost asked.

“I’d ask the same question of you,” Elsebet said.

“The last of the Nightingale Sentinels, I’m afraid. I’ve defended the Sepulcher alone for what seems like an eternity.”

“The last?” Arcaelo asked. “What happened to the rest?”

He bowed his head slightly. “We were betrayed by one of our own. In fact, I’m to blame for what’s happened here.”

“How are you to blame?” Elsebet asked.

“I was blinded. Blinded by dark treachery masquerading as friendship. Perhaps if I had been more vigilant, then Mercer Frey wouldn’t have lured me to my fate and stolen the Skeleton Key.”

Something clicked into place in Elsebet’s mind. “Wait a moment… you’re Gallus!”

“I haven’t heard that name in a long time. How do you know of me?” the Sentinel asked.

She pulled the Skeleton Key out of her pack and held it up for him to see. “I have the Key.”

“The Key!” he cried in surprise, and Arcaelo stared at it in confusion. “You have the Skeleton Key! I never thought I’d see it again. And Mercer Frey?”

“Dead.”

“Then… it’s over and my death was not in vain. I owe you a great deal, Nightingale.”

“I did this to honour the Guild.”

He nodded. “You’ve done the Guild a great deed. And although they may not show it, I’m certain they appreciate your sacrifices. My only regret is that you had to undertake this task alone.”

Elsebet smiled. “Karliah helped me.”

He seemed startled by her words. “Karliah… she’s still alive? I feared she’d befallen the same fate, ending up a victim of Mercer’s betrayal.”

“Then take the Key and right all wrongs.”

“Nothing would give me more pride than to return the Key, but I’m afraid it’s impossible. From the moment I arrived here, I’ve felt myself… well… dying.”

“How can a spirit die?” Arcaelo asked.

“The Sepulcher isn’t merely a temple or a vault to house the Key,” Gallus explained. “Within these walls is the Ebonmere… a conduit to Nocturnal’s realm of Evergloam. When Mercer stole the Key, that conduit closed, severely limiting our ties to her.”

Elsebet sighed. “Then we’ll have to proceed alone.”

He nodded solemnly. “I’m afraid so. I’m weakening, and I can feel myself slipping away. The years without restoration of my power have taken their toll. Whatever damage has been caused can only be corrected by following the Pilgrim’s Path to the Ebonmere and replacing the Key.”

“What will we face in the Pilgrim’s Path?”

“I wish I could help you, but I’ve been a prisoner in this very chamber for the last quarter century. The only possible help I’ve come across are the remains of some poor fellow who was trying to follow in your footsteps. Perhaps his journal can help? It’s over there.”

He pointed to the left, behind a rock. The two of them made their way over, finding a skeleton with an enchanted elven sword lying next to him. Elsebet let Arcaelo take it as she went through the knapsack next to the bones, pocketing a couple coins and gems before pulling out a tattered journal.

The first page proclaimed it to be owned by a man named Nystrom.

She skimmed through it, until she got to the part where it said that there were five tests they had to go through, with hints to pass them.

“Shadows of their former selves, sentinels of the dark. They wander ever more and deal swift death to defilers. 

“Above all they stand, vigilance everlasting. Beholden to the murk yet contentious of the glow.

“Offer what She desires most, but reject the material. For her greatest want is which that cannot be seen, felt, or carried.

“Direct and yet indirect. The path to salvation a route of cunning with fortune betraying the foolish.

“The journey is complete, the Empress’s embrace awaits the fallen. Hesitate not if you wish to gift her your eternal devotion.”

“What’s that?” Arcaelo asked.

She handed the journal over to her. “Clues to getting through the Pilgrim’s Path.”

“Well, the first one is obviously sentinels trying to kill us,” the Imperial said. “Beholden means owing thanks and contentious means to cause an argument. I not quite sure about that one. We’ll see when we get there. Nocturnal’s the Daedra of Darkness, isn’t she? So that would be the third one, she wants darkness. Fourth ones a bit tricky, I’ll be able to tell when we get there, and the fifth is that only those that are truly devoted to her can get to the Ebonmere.”

Elsebet blinked at her. “How did you know all that?”

“I grew up with Aletara as a sister, and I’m not as dumb as I look,” she said. “Let’s just get this over with, this place gives me the creeps.”

The Nord nodded, and they went to the stairs and climbed them, entering the Pilgrim’s Path.

The first test came up quickly, with only a tunnel opening into a chamber. At the bottom of a set of stairs, a sentinel appeared, taking the bow off their back and shooting an arrow at them. At the same time, one emerged from a sarcophagus next to the other sentinel and unsheathed a sword, and another running out of a side room.

Elsebet pulled Karliah’s Nightingale bow off her back and nocked an arrow, aiming at the archer. The arrow she loosed hit its mark, and the sentinel faded to nothing as it fell back. Arcaelo ran at the sentinel that had come out of the room, unsheathing her twin daggers and making quick work of the spirit while Elsebet shot at the third sentinel coming up the set of stairs that took up most of the chamber.

With one last slash to the sentinel’s chest, the sentinel Arcaelo was attacking disappeared, and the Imperial followed Elsebet down the stairs and through the door at the bottom. The tunnel turned and went down a set of stairs, and they stepped over a pressure plate trap and got assaulted by another sentinel. Elsebet shot an arrow at it, and it sailed through, the sentinel disappeared as the arrow hit the wall behind where it had been.

They went up another staircase, and around another corner. Everything in the next chamber was dark, except for a few spots where there were lanterns illuminating spots. Shrugging, Elsebet went to step inside one of the lit areas when Arcaelo pulled her back.

“I think I just figured this one out,” she said when the Nord gave her a look. ““Beholden to the murk yet contentious of the glow.” We’re supposed to stay in the darkness.”

Elsebet hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

She nodded. “Then I trust you. Lead the way.”

She did, and they weaved their way through the darkness between the areas the lanterns lit, dodging dart traps along the way. At the end of the path was a tunnel that lead to a statue of Nocturnal in all her glory, two lit lanterns in the small chamber. At the statue’s feet was a wooden plate full of gems and coin, as well as the decaying corpse of a dark elf bandit.

“We need to extinguish those lights,” Arcaelo said. “The riddle says to give her what she wants, so let’s give her darkness.”

A quick search found a chain connected to each of the braziers, and they each pulled one, plunging the room into darkness. Behind the statue, a part of the wall slid down, revealing a hidden passage.

Elsebet led the way down the passage. At the end of it there was clearly a door to the next test, but as they approached the tunnel leading to it axes started swinging, threatening to cut anyone that entered.

Arcaelo looked to the left. “There’s a door there, it probably leads around.”

Elsebet went to the door, jiggling the handles, but it was locked. She pulled out the Skeleton Key and knelt down in front of the lock, picking it in a couple of minutes because of how it tough the lock was. She was glad she had the Key, because if she had to use lockpicks she would have lost a lot of them.

She pushed the door open and led the way through the tunnel that went around the swinging blade trap. They went through the door they had seen through the first tunnel, leading them to a Hall of Stories that had a few of Nocturnal’s touches added to it, and no puzzle door at the end of it.

There wasn’t anything at the end of it, actually. Through the doorway that usually held the puzzle door was a sheer drop to a round chamber a couple metres below them.

“I think we need to go down there,” Elsebet said.

“There’s a skeleton down there,” Arcaelo retorted.

Elsebet didn’t listen and jumped, landing on her feet heavily. She let out a cry of pain as her legs jarred and the muscles around her stabbed knee spasmed. She pulled a healing potion out of her pack and downed half of it as Arcaelo landed next to her, handing the rest to her to stop the pain in her legs.

Elsebet pulled the Key out of her pocket again and looked at it, wondering how long they were going to be down there until something happened, as there was no passage leading forward.

“Bad news, this guy starved to death,” Arcaelo said, reading a note that had been next to the skeleton. “And he seems to be the first skeleton’s friend.”

“It’s going to be fine,” Elsebet said. “The riddle said not to hesitate, and am I hesitating? No.”

The floor shuddered underneath them, before giving out altogether. The pieces of the floor seemed to disappear as they fell, and though they landed on the floor that was much farther down than the first fall was, there was no pain. 

They were in a small room, with what looked like three closed portals on the walls, evenly spaced, with a platform in the middle of the room, three glyphs of moons around the circular platform. In the middle of the platform was what looked like a keyhole.

Cautiously, Elsebet knelt down next to the hole and placed the Skeleton Key inside, twisting it until it clicked. When it did, the floor seemed to open, revealing a pool of dark blue and black, the closed portals on the walls filling with the same mixture of colours, and Elsebet was forced backwards as ravens flew out of the Ebonmere, along with a woman that could only be Nocturnal.

She floated above the Ebonmere, arms up to the sides holding a raven on each forearm, with bare feet and a bluish-purple robe that draped over her body seductively. The neckline plunged down, showing her torso and the sides of her breasts. The sides were bare as well, only being tied up with a rope.

“My, my. What do we have here?” Nocturnal asked, her voice deep. “It’s been a number of years since I’ve set foot on your world. Or perhaps it’s been moments. One tends to lose track. So… once again the Key has been stolen and a “champion” returns it to the Sepulcher. Now that Ebonmere has been restored, you stand before me awaiting your accolades; a pat on your head… a kiss on your cheek.

“What you fail to realise is your actions were expected and represent nothing more than the fulfilment of your agreement. Don’t mistake my tone for displeasure, after all, you’ve obediently performed your duties to the letter. But we both know this has little to do with honour and oaths and loyalty. It’s about the reward; the prize. Fear not. You’ll have your trinkets, your desire for power, your hunger for wealth.

“I bid you drink deeply from the Ebonmere, mortal. For this is where the Agent of Nocturnal is born. The Oath has been struck, the die has been cast, but your fate is not to go to the Evergloam. Your god Akatosh has made sure of that, while taking away several of my agents. So you will not get my gifts, Dragonborn. Your companion, however, has a choice. She can become my agent in your place, taking the power I gave you, and she will take your place. Akatosh cannot take her, for she is not from here.”

Arcaelo blinked in surprise, and looked at Elsebet with a slight bit of fear in her eyes.

“Do you accept my offer?”

She was silent for a second before nodding. “I do.”

“Then you are my new Nightingale. Farewell. See to it the Key stays this time, will you?”

The Daedra sank back into the Evergloam in a flurry of ravens.

From one of the portals came Karliah, face mask on and hood pulled low. “Nocturnal seemed quite pleased with your efforts.”

Elsebet blinked at her. “Pleased? She sounded indifferent.”

“I wouldn’t take that to heart. It’s her way,” she said. “Think of her as a scolding mother continually pushing you harder to be successful; outwardly sounding angry but silently content. I assure you, if she had been displeased with you, we would not be having this conversation.”

“She said I was to be an agent of Nocturnal,” Arcaelo said. “What does that mean?”

“The circles on the base of the Ebonmere imbue you with powers befitting a Nightingale Agent. The crescent moon represents the Agent of Shadow, the half moon for the Agent of Subterfuge, and the full moon for the Agent of Strife.”

“Why can’t I be all three?”

“This is Nocturnal’s way of maintaining balance,” Karliah explained. “If you ever feel the need to change your abilities, you can return to the Sepulcher and step onto a different circle. Be warned that once you’ve chosen, you can’t reselect for at least a day.”

Elsebet nodded. That made sense, otherwise you could lure enemies here and change your abilities to suit what you need at the time.

“Now, your life as a Nightingale begins. Should the need arise, you’ll be summoned to the Twilight Sepulcher in order to defend it.”

“And you?” Elsebet asked.

She could hear the smile in the Dunmer’s voice. “The Guild has welcomed me back with open arms. I feel like a void in my life has finally been filled. I hope this isn’t the end of things, but actually the beginning.”

“Beginning of what?” Arcaelo asked.

“Why, perhaps the greatest crime spree Skyrim’s ever known,” she said, her purple eyes filling with glee. “They are are pockets brimming with coin and coffers overflowing with riches ripe for the picking. We may be Nightingales, but in our hearts we’re still thieves, and we’re damn good at what we do.”

Arcaelo grinned, and looked at the circles that were on the floor. “Which one was the Agent of Stealth?”

“The crescent moon,” Karliah said. “The Agent of Stealth is the master of remaining unseen. They are able to manipulate the darkness and use it to their advantage. On moonlit nights or in darkened rooms, this agent literally becomes invisible.”

“Sounds awesome,” Arcaelo said, and stepped onto the crescent moon.

“Karliah?”

They all turned to see the spirit of Gallus Desidenius walk towards Karliah, and she ran over to him, looking like she wanted to hug him but couldn’t. Elsebet tapped Arcaelo on the shoulder and motioned that they should leave the Nightingales alone.

Taking the portal to the entrance of the Twilight Sepulcher was weird, but there was another reason she wanted to be alone with Arcaelo. The question had been weighing heavily on her ever since Brynjolf had told her that he wanted her as the next Guildmaster, and this was the best time to do it, when there was no one around.

“We need to talk,” she told the Imperial.

Arcaelo raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“Brynjolf wants me to be the next Guildmaster.”

She nodded. “I heard. Congratulations.”

Elsebet shook her head. “No, I don’t want it. I’m not a leader. Not much of a follower, either. I like being alone, making my own decisions.”

“And?”

“And I want you to be the Guildmaster,” she said, looking at her in the eyes.

The Imperial blinked. “What?”

“You’ve done good for the Guild. A lot more than I have. You have a plan for the Guild, and I know that it will work. You just need the power to do it.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes,” she told her. “Take away the burden I won’t be able to carry. But you will be able to. I believe in you.”

“Why did Brynjolf ask you to, then?”

“He says you’re ruled by your heart,” she said. “But I know that you can put you heart to the side and listen to your mind when you need to. Just look what you’ve done with the Guild. Your plan is going to work.”

Arcaelo grinned, and pulled Elsebet into a hug. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The Nord hugged her back. “When we get back to Riften, Brynjolf is going to make me Guildmaster. When that happens, I’m going to name you my successor and retire. Sound like a plan?”

She pulled away from her and nodded, a smile overtaking her face. “It does.”


	28. A Lockbox Opened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The last chapter. There's a couple hints in this chapter (and the last one) signalling something that I plan to happen after this series. I've had the idea since day one, and it's actually the reason why I started writing it.
> 
> It will happen after book 7, and I can't wait for it to come around.

 

“For my first act as Guildmaster, I’m naming Arcaelo Belinius as my successor,” Elsebet said not long after the Guildmaster ceremony, in the middle of the Cistern.

A round of applause started up, and Arcaelo where she sat cross-legged at the end of her bed.

“My second act as Guildmaster is renouncing my position,” Elsebet said. “I never wanted to be Guildmaster, I’m only in this position because Brynjolf pressured me. But as Guildmaster, I can do what I want, so now Arcaelo’s the Guildmaster. Any objections?”

After the stunned silence came nothing.

Elsebet nodded. “Good. Now, I’m off. I have to go to Winterhold. I’m probably not going to be back. Bye.”

She left the middle of the Cistern and gathered the pack she had stuffed full of everything she had in her chest and threw it over her shoulder. She felt eyes on her as she made her way to the ladder leading to the secret entrance, but she ignored them as she opened the trapdoor and climbed out.

She was halfway to the gates when she heard footsteps behind her.

She looked over her shoulder and saw that Arcaelo had followed her.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” the Imperial said. “I just want to thank you again for the opportunity you gave me.”

“It’s no problem, really. If you hadn’t said yes, I would have left anyway.”

She was silent for a second. “Do you remember what Nocturnal said? About Akatosh not being able to take my soul?”

“Yeah, she said it was because your not from here,” Elsebet said. “I actually forgot about that, so thanks for reminding me. What did that mean?”

“I’m going to have to ask you not to ask again,” she said. “It’s a very sensitive topic, and it doesn’t just involve me, so I can’t tell you. I’m sorry if it’s vague, but I’m still trying to figure out why it happened.”

“Okay, I won’t,” Elsebet said, hesitating slightly.

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

The Imperial smiled. “Thank you. And I’m not going to keep it from you forever—I doubt I’d be able to—but I just a little more time, is all.”

Elsebet nodded. “I understand.”

“Thank you.”

She turned on her heel and made her way back to the secret entrance to the Thieves Guild.

Elsebet’s stomach growled, and she realised she hadn’t eaten all day. Grumbling slightly, she made her way to the Bee and Barb, where she ordered a crostata from the Argonian woman behind the bar, Keerava.

As she dug into her food, she heard someone call her name.

She looked around, looking for the source of the voice, and saw that it came from an Imperial in orange and brown mages robes. He had dark hair and eyes, and had a goatee under his lip.

She recognised him right away.

“Marcurio?”

“Man, it’s been _years_ ,” the mage said, sitting across from her. “I didn’t think I’d see you all the way down here.”

“You, too,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

He grinned. “I’m a mercenary for hire. Why settle for just stabbing your foes when you can roast them alive in a gout of arcane fire?”

“You haven’t changed a bit,” she said.

“You have,” he said. “What’s with the scars?”

Elsebet’s hand went up to her cheek, where there were four long scars. She had forgotten they were there. “A draugr scratched me.”

Marcurio had been a childhood friend of hers, and was only two years older than her. He had joined the College of Winterhold when he was fifteen, and Elsebet, just having lost Jorten two years prior, had latched onto him as a replacement older brother, despite still having Istah as her older brother.

And when she was eighteen, she had lost her virginity to him. That had been just before he left to try his luck throughout Skyrim.

“What are you doing here?” he asked her.

“I was part of the Thieves Guild, hence the armour,” she said, coming out of her memories.

He raised an eyebrow. “Was?”

“I just left. I’m headed for Solstheim.”

He blinked. “Solstheim? Why there?”

“I have business I need to attend to. But before I go there, I need to stop off in Winterhold and do something.”

It was silent for a couple seconds.

“Would you like some company?” he asked. “Despite the traffic here, no one stays long enough to want mercenaries. Having an adventure will do me some good.”

Elsebet scoffed. “I’ve had enough adventure.”

“You’re about to go to Solstheim.”

“I said I’ve had enough adventure, not that I wasn’t going to stop.”

He leaned his elbows on the table. “So what does this adventure entail?”

She smirked slyly. “Ever heard of someone called Miraak?”

* * *

“I can’t believe you’re the Dragonborn,” Marcurio said as he cast a spell of warmth on him and Elsebet.

“I can’t believe that it’s been two days and you still can’t get over it,” she said, and jumped onto the next ice flow.

They were almost at Septimus Signus’s outpost north of Winterhold, and despite being the middle of spring there was a light snowfall that was covering the coldest hold of Skyrim. She could see the boat that the crazy old man used to get to the iceberg all those years ago, and the two of them jumped onto the ice flow that was connected to the iceberg.

“What are we doing up here anyway?” Marcurio asked.

“I need to give Septimus Signus an essence extractor full of blood,” she said. She looked over her shoulder and saw the horrified look on the Imperial’s face. “Don’t ask. Also, it would be better if you stayed out here, I don’t want you getting roped into selling your soul to a Daedric Prince. Trust me, someone tried to do it with me recently.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say “Daedric Prince”?” he asked. “What have you been doing, woman?”

“You don’t want to know,” she said, and entered the outpost.

She walked through the small tunnel leading to the hollow inside of the iceberg, and made her way to Septimus Signus.

She pulled the extractor out of her pack and held it out for the man. “I’ve brought all the blood you require.”

Septimus took it off of her, and muttered to himself. “I can almost… hear them. I feel their life energy. Come, I will make the mixture.”

He went over to a desk and poured the blood into a mortar and pestle, and started mixing. Then he went to the Dwemer lockbox and smeared the mixture on the locks.

The front of the lockbox started twisting, until it was a tunnel leading inside. Elsebet followed him inside. She expected gold and jewels, but there was only a pedestal in the middle with a single book on top.

Septimus started lifting up into the air. “What is this… it’s… it’s just a book?! I can see. The world beyond burns in my mind. It’s marvellous…”

And then he turned to dust.

Elsebet stared at the dust pile with wide eyes, not quite sure what happened. Did Hermaeus Mora do it? She didn’t know. But she did know that she wanted the book.

She picked up the book, the cover covered in human skin. Even with knowing that, she turned around and started leaving the lockbox, only for the writhing mass of eyeballs and tentacles that was Hermaeus Mora waiting for her.

“Come, my champion,” he said in his deep, slow drawl.

“What now?” Elsebet asked, kind of sick of the Daedra at that point.

“Now you have my Oghma Infinium. It contains the knowledge of the ages as revealed to Xarxes, my loyal servant. For hundreds of years it’s been shut away from the world. Septimus was a useful tool for unleashing it. Now it is in your hands. Let us work wonders together…”

He started fading away, until he was nothing.

In her hands, the Oghma Infinium seemed to speak to her, asking to be opened. Balancing it on one hand, she pried open the cover, and she saw the secrets that had been hidden away from the world. The secrets of thieves, as they sneak around in the shadows, taking what isn’t theirs. The secrets of mages, and all the schools of magic, even mysticism, which had been taken out a hundred years earlier. And even the secrets of warriors, the way they fight, the way they attack others.

But she had to choose one, and only one.

She pressed her hand to the page that held the secrets of thieves, and her mind was opened.

The Oghma Infinium vanished, returning to Hermaeus Mora’s realm of Oblivion, Apocrypha.

When she got out of the outpost, Marcurio was leaning against the iceberg without a care in the world.

* * *

Eastmarch was cold, but not as cold as Winterhold had been. As soon as she entered the city of Windhelm, she had booked it to the docks, not wanting to get caught by someone that knew she was Dragonborn, and have them tell Ulfric Stormcloak. She hadn’t spoken to the Jarl since the peace treaty she held in High Hrothgar months earlier, and she didn’t want to speak to him again. She had made an enemy out of him, and that wasn’t a good thing.

At the docks, she asked one of the Argonian workers where the Northern Maiden ship was. She pointed to one of the ships, and Elsebet thanked her, handing her a couple gold pieces, knowing that they weren’t paid much for the work they did.

Elsebet led the way to the ship, where she headed to the man that looked like the captain.

He looked up as the two of them approached, and he sighed. “If you’re looking for passage to Solstheim, too bad. I’m not going back there anymore.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What happened? Why won’t you go back?”

“It’s hard to explain…” the man said. “I remember these people with masks coming on board, then… The next thing I remember, I was here and they were gone. That’s not right, losing whole days like that. There’s been something strange happening on Solstheim for a while, but after this… I’m done. I’m not going back to Solstheim.”

“Yes, you are,” she said. “You’re taking me to Solstheim.”

“Have you been listening to me? I’m not going back.”

“I’ll pay you double your usual fee,” she said, pulling a coinpurse full of gold out of her pack.

He eyed the coinpurse greedily. “Well… a man’s got to make a living, after all. We’ll cast off immediately.”

He took the coinpurse out of Elsebet’s hand and started yelling orders at his men. Elsebet and Marcurio went to the bow of the ship, looking over the harbour of Windhelm.

“You ready for another adventure?” Marcurio asked, glancing at her.

She hoped she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you're probably wondering why there's still one more chapter. Well, I am doing that chapter as a notification, telling you that the next book is up. I will post it just before I post the next one, so here's hoping it's soon.


	29. Author's Note

**Hey guys! The next book in the series, _A Dragon's Equal_ , has been posted! Please check it out!**


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